


Isolation on Tracy Island 2.0

by WillowDragonCat



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Other, Selene Tempest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 53,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27388045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowDragonCat/pseuds/WillowDragonCat
Summary: Here we go again...(Due to life constraints and lack of time this particular work is now completed and will not be updated any more.Thank you all for reading.)
Relationships: John Tracy/Selene Tempest
Comments: 50
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

Day… Who knows? What month is it? What year, am I even on the right planet? Shall we call it Isolation 2.0?

Day 1 of 2.0, and I can't quite believe this is happening again. Was I not tortured enough by having to spend more than a hundred days with these idiots? 

Apparently not, because here I am, yet again, being drafted to go to a remote tropical island and help take care of grown adults that should be able to look after themselves and stopping them from doing ridiculous things when they should know better. 

I knew it was coming, the second that it flashed up on the news that we in England were about to have an enforced lockdown again, it was just a matter of time. I gave them twenty minutes, it only took nine before my phone lit up and there they were. 

Life had gone back to, well, not normal, because there are still things like social distancing and mask wearing and limits to the amount of people you could see and things you could do, but I'd been back at work for a while, mostly back in my own place and back to the kind of routine we'd had before. And by routine I mean that I'd work a few days, spend some time at home and then spend a couple of days a week with the dumbasses or have my one dumbass with me for a few hours or if I was lucky, a whole night. 

Had I missed them all…yes, I'll admit that, it had been so quiet and strange being home alone again after so long being surrounded by noise and company, but it had also been quite nice to not have to make much of an effort to communicate with anyone if I didn't want to. 

"But you love us," Gordon wheedled, big amber eyes shining out of his too cute face as he gazed at me from my phone screen. 

"Not that much," I argued, settling myself deeper into the pillows and blankets that made up my couch nest. I had a book beside me, some crochet just over there, a cocoa on my coffee table and above all I had PEACE. And he was asking me to give that up again? NEVER! 

"You do," he countered. 

"Do not," I insisted. 

He went quiet for a second, which is never a good thing, then one eyebrow lifted, like he'd just gotten the best idea ever and I knew I was in trouble. 

"You know John won't survive with what little sanity he has left if you aren't here to protect him. He'll be trapped, with us…"

Damn him! He'd won, he knew it, I knew it and if the sniggering in the background was any indication they all knew it too. It was only a matter of time… 

"We're your support bubble," Alan added, his face squashing into camera range next to his brother's. 

"I don't need a full time babysitting job as a support bubble, I need your brother to come here so we can enjoy some peace and he can use up some of that vacation time he must have accumulated by now."

"And where better to spend it than somewhere nice and warm surrounded by your best friends, surely that's better than being stuck in rainy, cold England?" 

"You'd think so, but no," I tried to sound firm, I tried to sound decided, but I knew they wouldn't fall for it. They never did. 

"You know this is inevitable, don't you?" Virgil called from somewhere in the background. 

Unfortunately, I did. 

"How long until Scott gets here?" I sighed, giving in gracefully. 

"About five minutes."

I was sooooo going to regret this…


	2. Day 2

Day 2 of Isolation 2.0 on Tracy Island and...well I'll be honest, it's not been too bad yet. Everyone seems a lot more civilised than they were the first time, maybe because it's not as bad globally as it was back in… March was it? What year is this, do I still have my youth or have they sucked it out of me? 

Anyway, yes, they are better behaved than the first time, I guess because the shock's over with and it's been so long in a kind of half limbo that we're pretty used to it now. They spent the night trying to convince me that they had dragged me from my little witch cave for my benefit rather than theirs, they lie. 

Either way, they are slightly less rowdy, according to Jeff, slightly tidier, according to Grandma but still not at all self sufficient, according to John. 

I'd decided that, as I had little choice in the matter, I'd make the best of it. I strolled into the empty lounge, dropped my three bags on the floor, raised my arms and yelled at the top of my voice, "Honey, I'm home!" 

I don't know what I expected, maybe to be greeted enthusiastically, to have various family members run in from all directions, so happy and grateful to see me, I mean, I was pretty open to any display of affection, truth be told. 

But no, not one of them bothered to come and say hello. 

"I might as well go back home," I grumbled to Scott who had finished the post flight checks of One and ambled in after me. "I even brought snacks and I'm being ignored." 

"Snacks?" his hand was in the bag I indicated by kicking it with my toe before I'd even finished speaking. 

"Well, now I know why I was wanted," I sniffed. "Let me guess, food standards have slipped now that you've all eaten through the meals I left in the freezers last time I was here?" 

"That has nothing to do with why we wanted you," he assured me, flopping down on one of the couches with his pilfered bounty bar. He unwrapped the chocolate and bit into it, humming happily. "You always bring the best chocolate with you."

"Well, I don't like that American stuff you get," I dropped down beside him and stole the other half of the bar. 

"There's nothing wrong with American things," he argued. "Quality products from there."

My eyes slid sideways to look at him. "Dude, are you counting yourself as a quality product?" 

"Maybe," he didn't bother denying it. 

There wasn't much I could say to that really so I shifted the conversation. 

"Where are the other idiots?" 

He shrugged. 

"That's helpful, thanks." I sighed, resting my head back against the sofa. It was weird but this time really did feel so different, almost like it had been inevitable, we were just waiting for it to come.

"I'm not doing all the work this time," I warned him, "like, you guys are gonna have to step up, I refuse to be your maid and run around after you all like I did last time. New lockdown, new rules."

"We don't need a maid," he argued. "Is it so hard to believe that we just want you here so we're all together?" 

I shrugged, still feeling a bit like I'd been both blindsided and guilt tripped into it, not to mention feeling rather damp and itchy from the decontamination chamber Brains has forced me into. I told him that I'd been extra careful, that I'd been following the social distancing, yet he hadn't listened and still insisted that I needed to be blasted. 

"Here's the thing," he poked me to make sure I was listening. "Last time you were here to help us get through it. We were all feeling a bit helpless and frustrated and without you here distracting us and bossing us around, things would have been a lot worse. This time is different, this time it would be you stuck at home, we're still able to go out and do our jobs now, even though we're still getting fewer calls than normal and some countries aren't allowing entry, but because of that, as soon as your lockdown came in you would have been alone for a month."

"I think I could have handled that."

"Do you though, do you really?" 

I glanced at him, not detecting the teasing tone I had been expecting. Could I have handled it? So many people were stuck alone, unable to see their loved ones, their friends and family or to even go to work again. All the little things that make life more bearable and they had been taken away again. I like peace and quiet, but I knew he was right, being locked away, on my own for another month, maybe longer, it wouldn't actually be good for me.

"Admit it, you love us, you'd miss us."

"I admit nothing," but he was right, I would. I hadn't really thought about it, I guess that's what everyone is doing, trying not to think about it all too much but, while the thought of having a month at home, in peace and quiet sounded like a dream, I wouldn't actually want it. 

"You're back!" Alan yelled, cannonballing onto the sofa from parts unknown. 

"I guess so," I conceded, trying not to melt when he squished up beside me and stole the chocolate I'd been eating. 

"Do you mind?" I asked, purely because I felt I had to, not for any real need to tell him off. 

"Nope," he grinned, popping the bounty in his mouth. 

"Wait, that's…coconut," I trailed off as he gagged, looking for somewhere to spit it out. I handed him a tissue from my bag and he gratefully emptied his mouth. 

"This is going to be hell, isn't it?" I asked no one in particular. 

"Probably," Scott agreed, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. "But at least we'll all be together."

"Joy," I muttered but I did hug him back. 

"Are you going to keep a diary this time, too?" Alan asked, having recovered a bit. 

"I might," I hedged, not telling him that I'd started yesterday. "But I'm not doing it alone this time, you're all going to help me. Deal?" 

"Deal," he agreed. 

Gradually a few more wandered in, mostly to pick through my luggage like the vulture that they are, knowing that this time I had been wise enough to bring the contents of my fridge and half my cupboards with me. 

Gordon yoinked my pringles, Alan took my milkshake, Virgil helped himself to my chocolate chip cookies. 

"Hi," the normally beloved voice said behind me. 

I didn't turn around. "I blame you for the fact that I'm here again, you know that, right?" 

"Yep," John dropped down beside me on the couch, lifting his arm for me to snuggle under. 

"Cuddles will not make up for this betrayal," I warned him, not that it stopped me from taking advantage of it. Any Tracy in a storm and all that, plus this one might be the best, though I am slightly biased. 

"We appreciate your sacrifice," he told me solemnly. "And to show our appreciation, we organised a little something."

"You did?" Did I sound sceptical? I believe I did. 

"We did!" Alan joined in. "We did some research and found that it's traditional to eat baked potatoes and chilli tonight."

"It is?" I frowned, wracking my brains as to what the heck he was talking about. I was also slightly worried about who had done the cooking. 

"Yes," John got up, dragging me to my feet and propelled me towards the windows. He nodded to Virgil, who messaged Brains, saying something I couldn't hear. 

As one, all the other idiots surrounded us, all looking up, heads tipped back expectantly, like baby birds awaiting food. 

"What are we doing?" I asked, completely confused. 

"It's November 5th," Scott answered. "Remember, remember the 5th of November." 

Oooooh. I didn't have time to answer as the first rocket shot up into the air, exploding in a burst of colour and sound, lighting up the dark night sky...


	3. Day 3

Day 3 of isolation on Tracy Island 2.0

Well….I mean…. Yep. That's all I can say today. I feel like, in the months since I was last here permanently, they have just been lying to me the whole time. 

They told me they were getting on OK, they told me that they had matured, they had grown up and could be left alone. It was a lie. 

They PROMISED me that I wouldn't have to babysit them like they were five years old.

They lied. 

They also promised me that they wouldn't do anything where they could potentially kill themselves. 

They most definitely lied! 

Let me sing you the song of my dumbasses. It went like this. 

John: *texting* I know you're busy… (I'm currently trying to plan a shopping list because, as usual, they have forgotten the most basic of things needed to sustain life) 

Me: But? 

John: Help me. 

Me: *Instantly concerned* What's wrong? You never ask for help. 

John: Come outside. 

Me: *even more concerned now. Stands up and walks over to the window, craning my neck to try to spot whatever he needs help with. Cannot believe my eyes. Calls him instead* Seriously?

John : *looking a little sheepish, as well he should since he and Virgil are supposed to be the sensible ones* 

Me: *pinching the bridge of my nose, knowing that the next four weeks are just going to be one massive headache. * Babe, honey, darling, love of my life… Can you please explain to me why your dumbass brothers are carrying a mattress down to the beach and you and the slightly less dumbass one have sofa cushions? 

John: I… *slumps* No,not really. There's no explanation for it… 

*Gordon runs back past the camera and vanishes*

Scott : *appears in the background running with a deck chair on his back* I got one! 

Me: Do I even want to know? 

Gordon: *zooms past the camera on one of the old hover bikes* WE CAN TOW IT WITH THIS! 

John : Are you coming to help? 

Me: *makes a quick decision based purely on self preservation* No. 

John: Don't leave me like this! 

Me: You're on your own. Perish. *hangs up* Dumbass! 

Grandma: *coming into the lounge* Which one? 

Me: All of them! 

Grandma: Even John? 

Me: *nods sadly* They finally broke him and we're only three days in. 

Grandma: See, this is why we needed you here. *hands me a coffee* I'll get the med kit, you load up the next episode (We're binge watching an old show called Friends, usually Scott watches too but yeahhhh). 

I'd like to say we didn't actually need the med kit, but I'd be lying too. 

It turns out that one of them, they refuse to tell me who, had the bright idea to use a mattress as a sand sled (their logic being they never get snow??). 

They tied the deck chair to the mattress, which in turn was attached to the hover bike and then they took turns racing along the beach. I'm not sure what they used the cushions for but they came back full of sand and one was soaking wet. I do believe they used them as a landing pad. 

I'm glad I didn't get involved, I need to get through this with my sanity intact.


	4. Day 4

Day 4 of isolation on Tracy Island 2.0

"I don't care, you're coming with me," I told the love of my life, who wasn't looking very happy about it. 

"Why me?" he whined, and if you've never heard John whine before, or don't actually believe he's capable of it, let me assure you that he is very capable and it's very pitiful. But I am immune (mostly) and continued to stand my ground. 

"Because I can't leave you alone with them, you can't stand up for yourself and they can't be trusted."

"That's not true! I can…" he saw the look on my face as I mouthed 'mattress' and trailed off, admitting defeat. "Fine, but just the one shop."

Now, I know they say never take your husband shopping, but I honestly, TRULY thought that mine would be an exception. He's the organised one, he's the sensible one, the one that correlates all the data and sorts out all their problems. 

How wrong I was. 

It was actually quite pleasant to be alone for a few hours, it hadn't been that long since I'd made my less than dramatic return to the island but since the world was nowhere near normal we hadn't had that much time to ourselves lately, so I was going to take full advantage. 

"What do we need to get?" he asked in that long suffering tone that all husbands adopt when faced with the prospect of a trip around a shop with their woman. 

"Not that much," I assured him. I was lying. 

"Show me," he ordered, knowing I was lying. Must work on my 'believe me' voice. 

I lifted up the list, which unfurled itself into something roughly the length of Alan and watched as his eyes tracked its descent. I also watched the life drained out of them as he faced his doom head on. 

"Really?" 

I nodded, folding the list back up again. "It won't be that bad," I promised him. "It's one massive shop, we should be able to find everything there."

"Why didn't you take Virgil instead? Why must you torture me?" 

"Because you're my man and it's your job, plus I want to spend some alone time with you."

"I can think of much better ways to spend alone time," he grumbled under his breath as he steered the plane towards the landing strip. I declined to comment. 

***

"Now, whatever you do, don't wander off," I reminded him, looking up from the list where I had sensibly been highlighting different categories of products so we could hit the different areas in order. 

I almost laughed when I saw that my poor, put-upon man was slumped against the plane, hands in his pockets, eyes downcast like he was fully expecting the grim reaper to show up any second and whisk him away from my evil clutches. Keep on dreaming, boy. 

"I'm not Alan," he sniffed. "Or Scott, I don't wander off, you wander off."

"I do not!" 

"You're the one that didn't tell me you were going to look at the meerkats when we went to the zoo."

"Babe, it's meerkats, you should have known I'd wander off to look at them, that's just common sense. I didn't need to say it."

He looked at me like he thought I had no idea what common sense even was. He's probably right, since I agreed to both marriage and staying on the island again. 

"Come on," I held out my hand, wiggling it in invitation, "it won't be that bad."

He sighed and took my hand. "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?" 

"Probably. Now, masks on, sanitiser at the ready, grab that trolly for me and let's do this thing."

***  
You know how it is when you're mostly in a shopping daze and can't focus on anything but getting in and getting out as quickly as possible? Like you're so focused on the list and making sure you don't forget anything and trying to locate the actual items you need versus the ones you suddenly want and can't do without? That was me. 

So it took me a few minutes to realise that I'd lost John. I don't know how it happened, I don't know when and I couldn't say in good faith that he hadn't been kidnapped by aliens, it was that kind of day. 

He'd shuffled along behind me, pushing the cart into which I was throwing all manner of things that I could tell he thought were useless and unnecessary. How little he knew. 

"You can put some things in too," I reminded him as I tossed a loaf of fruit bread over my shoulder towards the cart. He didn't answer. The bread landed on the floor with a soft flump. 

"John?" I turned around but he was gone, the cart too. 

"What the heck?" Where was he? I fumbled in my bag for my phone. Where was it? Why was I losing everything important today? I had a sudden mental image of my phone sitting on the coffee pot where I'd propped it while making breakfast, I'd been watching YouTube videos and needed both hands…

"Damn it." I didn't have my comm with me either, I only ever took that out with me when I wasn't home. Which would be now… "DAMN IT!" 

In my defence, I hadn't thought that I would actually lose him. I thought he was more sensible than that. 

I retraced my steps, going back down four aisles to the place I knew for certain I'd last seen him behind me, pushing the trolly like it was a protective force field against shop workers and old people that didn't know the meaning of social distancing and kept getting up in his face asking him to reach the high shelves for them. 

"John?" I called, sticking my head around the corner. Nothing. 

"Bugger."

Where the heck could he be? 

"Jooooohhhnnnnn!" I yelled a bit louder, starting a full sweep search, marching down the center gap between the aisles and glancing down each one. Nothing. 

"Excuse me, young lady."

I skidded to a halt, almost flattening an older man. 

"Hi, yes?" 

"Have you lost someone?" 

"Yep. Lost, one gorgeous ginger dumbass, if found please return to the witch in aisle 26." The man looked at me like I was crazy, but I'm used to it. 

"Oh, I thought you might be Mrs Tracy."

"No, Grandma's at home."

He gave me a funny look and I stared right back, I didn't want to be impolite and just walk away but yeah, kinda on a mission here, Grandpa.

It was then that I heard it, a voice coming over the tannoy. 

"Can Mrs Tracy please come to lost property at Customer Services."

It's a little surreal to hear someone calling you when you don't expect it and it took a few moments for it to register and my brain to process the information. 

The old man looked at me again, head tipped to one side. 

My brain clicked over. 

"Shhh…ugar! That's me! Lost husband! Thank you," I screamed over my shoulder as I hot footed it to the customer service desk. 

"Hi," I gasped, slightly out of breath (it's a very large store) "you…called," I gestured up to the ceiling and circled my finger like that would make sense to anyone but me. "Tracy…" I slumped, panting. 

"Oh," the lady at the desk finally lost the blank look on her face, figuring out what I meant. "He's in the lost child room."

I frowned, the what now? 

I dutifully followed behind the counter and through the door marked 'employees only'. 

"A customer found him standing alone in the bread aisle looking confused and lost so they alerted us."

She pushed open the door to a cheery yellow room with dancing clowns on the walls that looked like they wanted to eat my soul. 

"I'm sorry, I think there's been a mistake, I haven't lost a ch-" I stopped dead, blinking to make sure I was indeed seeing this correctly. 

"Where have you been?" John demanded. 

He was sitting forlornly on a chair that was so small it looked like it should have belonged in a doll house. His knees were higher than his chest. Some helpful soul had given him a colouring book but he'd ignored it although he was wearing a sticker that told me that he had been a super brave boy. 

"You left me!" 

"I did not!" 

"I turned around and you were gone! I tried to call and Scott answered!" 

"My phone's at home."

"I know that now! Because you abandoned me!" 

"I…I…" I splutted, not knowing what to say to that. 

"May I suggest a leash next time," the woman from the counter said as I dragged him to his feet. I couldn't tell with her mask on, but I'm pretty sure she was smirking. 

"Babe, you're fine, it's just a mega shop." 

"It's hell."

"You're being dramatic." 

"I'm never coming shopping with you again," he grumbled as I thanked the lady and towed him back into the shop. 

I have no idea where he lost the trolly, neither does he. I bought him a sausage roll in the cafe to appease him, leaving him there with his phone while I shopped on my own. Some things are just not worth the hassle. But I do know that next time someone calls my name in a shop, I'll pay attention.


	5. Day 5

Day 5 of Isolation on Tracy Island 2.0

“Are you going to eat all that yourself?” Gordon asked as he sidled up to me in the kitchen. I was making noodles, nice, simple, stir fried noodles, a little bit of chicken, some veg and a sweet and sour dippy sauce. Lush.

“No,” I answered. There was clearly far too much for me to eat alone, I had a Space Hubby around here somewhere… or possibly up there somewhere, it was hard to tell.

“Oh, cool, can I ha-”

“No.”

Cue the pout, the epic Gordo pout. I am immune. I never thought I would ever be able to say that, but I’ve grown stronger, more able to resist the bottom lip of doom. Just about. I remember that I tried that once with John, and his exact words had been “Don’t even try, that won’t work on me, I’m immune, I have two younger brothers.” I’d thought his confident speech had been all bravado and false hope, but he might have actually been telling the truth, my pouts rarely worked on him and the ones that the terrible two dished out never did. Was my man secretly a god? I mean, I thought so, I’d seen him with his top off, but maybe, just maybe he had hidden talents. Hmmm…

“You’ve got that look on your face again.”

“What look?” I asked, needing to clarify his meaning so I could decide if I needed to be insulted or not.

“The one you get when you’re staring at John or that guy from that old TV show, the Scottish one with the time travel.”

“Jamie Fraser is the most perfect of men, he is the ultimate in husband goals, he is…” I trailed off and shrugged. “I obviously have a thing for hot redheaded men.” 

“Urghh,” he made a face similar to the one that Scott made when Alan shoved his shoe under his nose last week. Like he wanted to throw up but wasn’t sure which way to aim.

“Why are you in here anyway?” I asked. “Was it just so you could bug me and judge me? I’m busy here, I’m trying to cook.”

He snorted, a scoffing little noise that was quite rude.

“What now?” I sighed.

“Cooking isn’t that hard.”

“Oh really? Then why is it that barely anyone in this house seems to be capable of it? It’s not just a case of grabbing some random ingredients, tossing them in a pot with a prayer for luck and you’re good to go.”

He declined to comment and wandered off without another word. I should have been terrified, but my bean sprouts were trying to burn so I pushed it aside to worry about later. That was my first dumb move.

My second dumb move was to actually leave the comfort of the couch and John’s recently vacated warm spot.

“What the everloving crap was that?” I yelped when a loud crash sounded from the kitchen below us. I poked John gently when he failed to react. “Did you hear that?”

“Since I’m not deaf, it would have been impossible for me not to,” he casually swiped something away on his tablet and started reading again.

“What did they do?” 

“And since I do not, in fact, have the ability to see through walls, I don’t know.”

“Go and find out.”

You’d have thought I was asking him to go shopping with me again.

“I don’t think so, you go.”

“They’re your brothers.”

“You’re the one that cares.”

“They’re your brothers,” I repeated.

He gave me that look of his that promises retribution as I rolled sideways to let him get up, rolling back to steal his spot the second he moved. I dragged his blanket over my knees (I’m feeling chilly today) and stole his tablet to watch videos on as he walked away. 

I got so engrossed, having fallen down a hole of cute hamster videos, that I didn’t realise for a full twenty minutes that John had failed to return. I had sudden and very detailed visions of my poor boy hogtied and left baking in the sun or some such nonsense. I unwrapped myself from my blanket burrito and started my very slow and reluctant walk towards the kitchen. 

“What are you doing?” I yelled the second I rounded the corner, entered the room and saw the scene before me. They all froze guiltily, including John, who was at that very second groping blindly around in the pantry. And when I say blindly, I mean it literally, he was wearing a blindfold that by the looks of it, had been made by them tying my shawl around his head. I don’t know what they were thinking, if anything I’m a little surprised that I’ve never seen smoke coming out of their ears when their two remaining brain cells rub together to give them an idea.

The other idiots were all standing around in various places, standing guard over small piles of produce like dragons over their gold. 

“What the hell is going on in here? And how the hell have you roped him in?”

“Hang on, he’s got twenty more seconds yet,” Alan told me, clicking a button on his comm again. “Go!”

John resumed his digging around, knocking over two jars of mustard and an open packet of pasta which poured out like a carby waterfall. He ignored it.

“Gordon?” I turned to the likely culprit.

“Why are you picking on me?” he asked innocently. "Why do you always assume it's my doing?" 

“Are you honestly trying to tell me that you had nothing to do with this? Whatever this actually is.”

“We’re having a picnic,” Virgil told me.

“It’s blindfolded kitchen shopping,” Kayo elaborated. I switched my glare to her, she was involved, I could tell, mostly because she still had one of her workout head wraps around her neck and had her own pile of goodies on the counter in front of her.

“It was Scott’s idea,” Alan piped up, throwing his brother under the bus. “Time!”

John dropped the item in his left hand, retaining the one in his right and backed out of the pantry. He pulled off his blindfold and gathered up his treasures, a bag of donuts, a can of whipped cream and in his hand a tin of spaghetti hoops.

“What was Scott’s idea?”

“Well, when you told me that cooking was easy-” 

“I said no such thing. I told you that it wasn’t as simple as just bunging some ingredients in a…” I trailed off, I could already see where this was going and I wasn’t impressed.

“Exactly, throw some ingredients together and make food. Easy.”

“Not easy,” I insisted.

“So I happened to mention it to Scott, who said that he agreed, you can make anything if you’re creative enough-”

“You should not be learning from the Grandma Tracy school of cookery!”

“The rules are simple,” Gordon continued as if I had never spoken. “One minute to select three ingredients, all of which must be used in the finished dish. You’re allowed to add two more ingredients to aid the construction but that’s all. You can do whatever you want with what you have, be as elaborate or as simple as you like. You must taste your own dish, as does everyone else when everything will be shared as a picnic.”

He looked so damned proud of himself, the little snot.

“How did the rest of you numpties get involved in this?” I sighed, knowing I was beaten. No one answered me. Giving up, my blanket nest calling me, I retreated towards the door.

“Do you want to join in?” Virgil asked innocently.

“No, I really don’t.”

“Do you not have as much faith in your cooking skills as we do in ours?” Alan teased. 

I paused in the doorway.

“Dare you, unless you’re scared,” Kayo threw in, just to stir the pot.

“Dammit!” She knew exactly what she was doing, I can NEVER resist a dare.

“Gimme a blindfold.”

Alan tossed me his, which I think was a football sock, but I didn’t want to look at it too closely, I just prayed it was clean. I tied it around my head and Scott checked to make sure I couldn’t see anything. I don’t know what he did, because obviously I couldn’t see anything, but it made a few of them snigger, so I’m obviously suspicious.

Alan started the timer and I groped my way around the table to the fridge.

“Forty-five seconds!”

Crap! This was actually pretty stressful. How did you pick something without seeing it? I decided to stick to one place and hope for the best, open the fridge, feel around, grab some bits, done! Right?

Easier said than done when you have recently gone shopping, the fridge is packed to bursting and you can’t tell what anything is.

“John! Grab this!” I demanded as Alan happily started counting down from twenty as my time ticked away. I grabbed something small and weird, no idea what it was and tossed it over my shoulder in what I guessed was his general direction, hoping he caught it.

I fumbled around and selected something round and cold, that I hoped might be a tomato and held that out too, then in desperation I yanked out a random box just as Alan called time.

I pulled off my blindfold and looked at the things John was holding for me, which turned out to be an apple and a tiny radish. I was holding a carton of eggs. Could have been worse.

“Let the food prep begin,” Gordon declared. “No helping each other.”

Sighing I got to work. Obviously, eggs would be my main ingredient, I cracked four into a bowl and whisked them together. 

“Do we have to use all of the ingredients we picked out?” I asked.

“Yes, every one.”

“No, I meant do I have to use the entire apple or the entire box of eggs,” I clarified.

“Oh, no you don’t, it just has to have them in there.”

“Cool, OK, and we get two extra ingredients of our choice?”

“Yep.”

“Cool.” That was me sorted then. I grabbed a grater and shredded a quarter of the apple and less than an eighth of the tiny radish. I wasn’t a big fan of those spicy little buggers, I don’t like pepper and they definitely have a peppery quality to them, but I was hoping the sweetness of the apple would balance it out.

I opened the fridge again and selected some cheese which I shredded and some ham, chopping it up quite fine. That would do.

I set a pan on the stove top and waited for it to heat up.

“Do I get to use any kind of oil or something to stop my food sticking?” I asked.

The ringleaders, Gordon and Scott, looked at each other, obviously indulging in some kind of non-verbal conversation I wasn't privy to before making their decision.

“Yes you can,” Scott graciously allowed.

“Thank you.” I dumped in a generous knob of butter. Quickly I sloshed the eggs into the pan, and fluffed them up a little with a fork before I turned the heat down a bit and let them sizzle.

I glanced over at Alan who was constructing something with jam and a pile of cookies. Scott was wrestling with a can of tuna and Gordon was opening a carton of custard.

I sprinkled a little of the apple on top of the egg, then a tiny dusting of radish, followed by a large handful of cheese and ham. I eased the sides of my omelette away from the pan, making sure it wasn’t sticking and checking it was cooking.

John, I noticed, was doing something weird with a lettuce leaf that he had procured from somewhere, it was not one of his blindfolded items so he must have gotten it after. He had the leaf stretched over a small bowl and was spooning a tiny amount of the tinned spaghetti into it. Sometimes I wonder why I agreed to marry into this family. I must have been drunk.

I carefully folded my omelette in half and turned the heat off, letting it rest and continue cooking a little.

“I’m done,” I declared, turning around to survey the chaos that had become our kitchen. Oh the humanity. I would NOT be cleaning this up.

Alan, it transpired, had blindly chosen cookies, cheese slices and curry sauce left over from some McDonald’s nuggets I got a few weeks ago, bringing them and other goodies with me in the space elevator. His extras appeared to involve pilfering a few of the McVities digestive biscuits that I’d brought from home the day I arrived that Kayo had chosen in her blind scrabble around the snack cupboard. 

He’d proceeded to make a weird stacked thing he was calling a cookie burger which consisted of a cookie base, a layer of jam on top of that, the digestive and lastly a slice of cheese with a drizzle of curry sauce on top.

Gordon was constructing something very elaborate, involving a bowl and lots of layers. His random items appeared to be the custard, half a vanilla sponge cake and a tub of left over chili. My mind was boggling. 

Scott was hacking at a rather stale looking half loaf of bread that John said he found in the rarely used bread bin, I don't know how he'd managed to open the bread bin without seeing it, but apparently he had. He'd also blindly chosen a can of Tuna and a packet of fruit gummies. 

Virgil, the adorable chonk, had managed to choose a package of cocktail weenies, a tin of peaches and a few sticks of celery. He had stared at his bounty for a good few minutes, before giving up and wandering over to the pantry. He'd stared into that too, like he was looking into a black hole or contemplating the mysteries of the universe. 

Eventually he'd chosen a pie crust from the baking shelf and had begun to assemble his creation. He tipped the peaches into the pie dish, chopped up the celery and cocktail sausages and dropped them in on top. He'd looked around, rather desperately I thought, and reached over to steal John's can of whipped cream, squirting a generous amount on top of his frankenpie and called it good. 

Kayo appeared to have more sense than the others, she had been the one to find my stash of digestive biscuits and, after Alan had liberated a few, proceeded to crush them into crumbs which she lined the inside of a bowl with.

"What are you making?" I asked, because it didn't look too awful. 

She continued to construct her…whatever it was…adding some cake pilfered from Gordon, some grated carrot mixed into cream cheese that was one of her chosen extras and topping it all with strawberries. It kinda…vaguely…could be a cheesecake, if you tipped your head to the side and squinted. 

I turned to John, my man, the one that I was supposed to trust with all my heart and soul…he was…I don't know how to describe it. He'd taken the donut and hollowed out a little bit more from the middle hole, then he'd gathered up the sides of his lettuce leaf/ spaghetti hoops thing and had made it into a little parcel, twisting the end closed. He then popped that inside the hollowed out donut. I have no idea why. He'd finished by decorating the top with whipped cream and sprinkles. What was it with them all thinking that whipped cream was the answer to all their problems? Because three of them had done it so far. 

Gordon had sprinkled in a handful of peas, actual peas, on top of his custard layer, then added cream on top. I honestly don't know. 

Scott had moved on from his bread and taken some of John's lettuce, insisting it was his first, and put a leaf on the stale bread and topped that with Tuna and sweetcorn, which actually had the potential to taste OK. Time would tell. He'd used the fruit gummies to decorate the plate with, I'm not sure if that counted but since he and Gordon seemed to be in charge I assumed it was allowed. 

I slid my omelette onto a plate and vaguely wondered if I should grab a few sick bags before the picnic portion of this weird event started. 

They all looked incredibly proud of themselves, why I had no idea, no one should be proud of the mess they had made, this was not food, this was barely a step up from mud pies in the yard. 

They all took their food offerings and trooped outside, setting up camp on one of the picnic benches near the edge of the beach and settled in. 

One by one they presented their masterpieces. Here are the reactions.

SCOTT’S

“This bread’s hard, very hard,” Alan said.

“It’s very fishy,” Gordon said, although we don’t know if it was a bad thing or not.

“Not bad, I could eat it if I had to,” Virgil allowed.

“I don’t like the sweetcorn on it, it keeps rolling away,” John frowned. He was always a bit funny with tinned sweetcorn anyway, he prefers it on the cob.

“That isn’t just hard bread, that is rock bread,” Kayo complained.

“It’s edible, with fresh ingredients I’d eat it again,” I said, trying to be nice. Honestly it wasn’t that bad, I’d definitely eaten worse over the years.

“It’s almost exactly like the subs we made in college,” Scott said, popping the rest in his mouth and chewing happily. He’s weird, that one, he pretends he’s not, he offers the illusion of being the capable, responsible older brother, but it’s all an act.

ALAN’S

“Erm…” Scott hedged, spending at least a minute turning the thing in his hand looking for a way to attack it. 

“I don’t know what to do with this, Al…” Virgil was even less sure.

“Give it here!” I had less issues and snatched it away from Scott. I ripped off a bit of the curry sauce topped cheese slice, licked the sauce off the cheese, popped the cheese in my mouth then took a bite of the sweet stuff. It was hard to get my teeth through all the layers of biscuit, but I managed it. It was actually OK, separating it was the way to go. “That’s actually quite nice.”

John copied me exactly, because I’m the sensible one although he’d never admit to that. “You’re right, it’s not bad.”

“Wimps,” Gordon bit straight through it, cheese, curry and all. Then he gagged.

Kayo took the cheese off her’s, ate the sweet stuff first then finished with the cheese, an unconventional method but it wasn’t like any of this was normal. She made a noise that could have been approval but could just as easily been a whimper of surrender.

Virgil took the whole thing apart and ate everything separately, one piece at a time, declaring it to be, “Not bad.”

Scott glanced at me with that look in his eye that said he was about to do something stupid… He reached for the curry sauce pot… 

“Scott, no!” I warned him.

He ignored me to tip the rest of the curry sauce on top of the cheese and threw it in his mouth. Immediately he let out a noise that sounded like a mixture between a gag and a burp. He chewed frantically then swallowed. We waited to see what would happen. “Not deadly,” was his verdict.

VIRGIL’S

“I’m sorry, no, I’m not eating that,” I told them, flat out refusing. “I’m semi allergic to peaches, they give me migraine headaches and I’m not risking it. I’m out.”

“I’m excused because she can’t eat peaches and I won’t risk cross contamination,” John said, leaping on my statement as a way to get out of it.

“That’s a flimsy excuse!” Scott accused, he knew it, John knew it, we all knew it. John didn’t care.

“You’re just mad that you can’t use it,” John said, squeezing my leg under the table in thanks for my weird kinda-allergy. I patted his hand in solidarity.

“No one has to eat it, I did my best,” Virgil winced, knowing that his was likely to be the most disastrous yet.

“I’m in!” Gordon declared, picking out a cocktail weenie and dunking it in the cream before popping it in his mouth. He chewed frantically as he scooped up a spoonful of pie crust, peaches and a slice of celery and shoveled that in after the weenie. He kept chewing, his face registering at least six different emotions, none of them pleasant before he finally swallowed. “It could have been worse.”

Kayo copied Gordon and picked out a weenie which she ate first, on its own. That’s where she got smart, washing it down with a mouthful of water before continuing. She spooned up some pie, peach, celery and cream concoction and tasted it. “Not bad like this, the celery is a slightly weird addition, but it can be ignored.”

“I feel sick,” Alan said, having shoved a large mouthful in. 

Scott, the brave boy that he is, shrugged and cut a whole slice, lifting it carefully to his mouth.

“He’s a madman…” Alan whispered in awe.

“A brave man…” Gordon added.

“A stupid man…” I sighed.

Scott bit into it, chewing slowly, rolling it around his mouth. “It’s fine.”

I stared at him in utter shock.

Virgil nibbled on a corner, made a face and pushed it away. “No.”

GORDON’S

“What the heck is this?” he of the iron stomach and nuclear powered taste buds asked.

“It’s that thing they did in that show,” Gordon answered, yet Scott still looked bemused, as did we all, blank faces all round.

“Which show, babe?” I felt the need to ask.

“The one with the friends in the coffee shop.”

“You mean ‘Friends’?”

“If that’s what it’s called,” he shrugged. “It’s a meat trifle.”

Cue horrified gasps all around.

“With a few modifications, obviously, since I had to use chili,” he hurried to explain, although it was anything but reassuring.

John pushed his fork into the center of the dish, looking more and more scared the deeper it sank.

“Don’t eat it and just say you did,” I side whispered to him, worried about his stomach since he usually lived on simple and non perishable food in Five.

“I heard that!” Gordon accused as he spooned up a big bite, determined to prove it was edible, and chowed down. “Huh…” he kept chewing, “not bad…”

“Not bad?” Scott goggled. “Are you serious?”

“The chili is good, the custard is good, the cream is nice, the peas are a bit weird but overall it's OK.”

Virgil was the next brave soul to scoop up a tiny forkful and I did the same getting the smallest amount I could onto my spoon, mostly trying to get just custard and cream, although I think I did spot a lurker pea in there.

Kayo and Alan both scooped up a spoonful and shoved it in their mouths, obviously figuring that getting it over with was the best way to tackle it. Kayo spat hers out instantly, Alan managed to chew and swallow his. Virgil got his down but there was a fair bit of gagging.

“It tastes like a foot,” Alan declared.

John took a small bite and reacted almost like a cat with a hairball, his body shuddering, neck stretching as he silently gagged. I handed him a tissue and he gratefully spat it out, sagging against me as if he was about to die.

I looked at Scott, who nodded in return and dug out his own small amount. “On three?”

Scott nodded and began the count. “One...two...three!” We both stuffed our spoons into our mouths. Scott made a face but managed to get it down, my plan had worked and, while the pea was indeed lurking and rather weird, it wasn't that bad a bite and I swallowed without issue, pleased to have survived.

MINE

“This doesn’t look too bad,” Scott said assessingly.

“How dare!” I gasped. “Cheek of it, it looks tasty.”

Virgil cut himself a small portion, being cautious, since everything else has been questionable at best, downright disgusting at worse. 

Gordon cut himself an actual slice, a godsdamned slice of my omelette and lifted it up like he would a piece of pizza then wondered why we were all staring at him like he’d lost his mind.

“What?” he asked, genuinely confused. John just shook his head in utter despair at his dingus brothers and cut a more sensible sized bite. 

“I’m sure it will be edible,” he said diplomatically, it's never good to insult the wife’s cooking even when it is so obviously crap.

Alan, disaster child that he is, cut a bit with the side of his spoon like a damned savage and spooned it up.

Kayo helped herself to a small fork full and got ready.

I reached over and broke a piece off of Gordon’s mega slice. 

“OK, good luck my friends,” I offered as I popped the eggy weirdness in my mouth… it was interesting. Nowhere near as bad as I thought it would be, the cheese and ham had mostly drowned out the spicy kick of the radish and the apple had added a weird sweetness to it, but at least it was edible if not to my taste. I managed to chew it and swallow without choking.

“That’s oddly nice,” John said, chewing slowly, thoughtfully. 

“Well, you are the person that likes baked apple pieces on your pizza,” I shuddered in revulsion at the memory of his birthday meal.

“What a man chooses to put on his pizza is his own business,” he told me.

“Not when it’s that weird.”

“It’s no weirder than pineapple on pizza.”

“He’s right,” Scott interrupted, “this is strangely OK.” He took another bite to make sure.

“I don’t like it, it’s too sweet,” Alan said, making a face. “I like sweet, but not mixed with savoury like this.”

“I agree,” Virgil said, setting his aside, “it’s too sweet, but you did your best.”

Gordon didn’t say anything, but he was steadily munching through his piece, I watched him, oddly fascinated.

“It’s edible, that’s all I can say about it,” Kayo told me, which for her was a compliment.

“Well? Verdict?” I asked Gordon when he eventually finished.

“I don’t know. I don’t like it or dislike it, it just is.”

“You’re being philosophical over a weird omelette?” Scott laughed.

“Had to happen some time.”

“How? How did it have to happen?” John asked, utterly bemused, looking like his brain was going into meltdown. “Who says to themselves ‘one day I will have to say something deep and meaningful about a randomly concocted omelette’? How do you even assume that?”

“I never say never,” Gordon shrugged, not caring to explain any further. Personally I don’t think he knew what he meant either but was just brazening it out by that point.

JOHN’S

I picked up his donut creation a little gingerly, because I'd seen what he’d done to it and I was wary. He obviously saw my hesitation because he leant closer to help.

“Just be careful with it and follow my instructions,” he whispered in my ear under the guise of being romantic.

One eyebrow rose in response...I mean, what do you say to that?

He continued, still whispering. “Bite down gently and try to avoid the sack,” he dropped a kiss on my neck before sitting back in his seat. Smooth, boy, very smooth. My other eyebrow lifted to join its sibling.

“I’m just trying to help,” he assured me.

“You’ve said that before.”

“And you listened then and look how well it turned out,” he said as if that was all the proof I needed.

I heard a snigger from Gordon who was obviously eavesdropping. 

“I was referring to the fact that you often use the excuse of just trying to help,” I sniffed.

“Oh...well…” he tried to look innocent but failed, flashing me one of those devastating grins that just melted me on the spot. “Just taste my damn donut.”

I debated the wiseness of listening to him but decided that, as trust is supposed to be the cornerstone of any good relationship, I should probably pay attention.

“OK, here we go,” I bit down carefully, right at the edge, trying to measure the distance between where my teeth were and the no go zone. I think I brushed the edge of the lettuce leaf but managed to stick to just the donut which, though ever so slightly stale, was still good.

“That’s nice,” I allowed, trying to keep my cover as I passed the donut over to John who took a bite in exactly the same way and therefore stayed safe.

He passed it on to Kayo, who had been watching us intently, studying our moves with her usual mix of suspicion and calculated plotting.

“You’ve got some cream on your lip,” I was told and sat still while he wiped it away with his thumb.

“What do you think, Kay?” Scott asked. 

Kayo, having executed a perfect bite from the other side of the donut nodded before passing judgement. “Edible.” She was now fully on board with our trickery and would never rat us out as she passed it innocently on to Alan.

Alan, trusting baby that he is, bit blindly into the donut, hitting the lettuce sack which exploded, squirting spaghetti hoop juice into his mouth.

“GAAAH what the…” he yelped, gasping in shock, dropping the demon donut with its hidden core of evil.

Scott picked up the donut, the spaghetti sauce now leaking out freely and soaking into the dough. Uncaring he took a bite. “Not gonna lie,” he mumbled around his mouthful, “it's not great.” 

Virgil relieved him of the donut and studied it from all sides. The artist in him wants everything to look appetizing and pleasant the whole time, this did not. “This looks hideous.” He nibbled a corner. “Disgusting,” he declared, offering it to Gordon.

Gordon reluctantly accepted it and bit down carefully. He chewed, swallowed and shook his head. “Nope, gross.” 

KAYO'S 

Kayo pushed her bowl over quite proudly. “Dig in.”

It didn’t look that bad, and since I’d seen a lot of what she used I knew the ingredients wouldn’t be that bad when mixed. Hopefully it wouldn't be the obnoxious assault to the tastebuds that some of them had been. 

I slammed my spoon confidently into it and scooped out a mouthful, popping it in my mouth before I could back out.

“Humm…” I chewed thoughtfully, what did I actually think of it? I couldn’t decide so I just spoke my thoughts as I so often do. “It's quite nice. I mean, biscuit, cake and cream cheese is nice, I don't really like the carrot mixed in but it doesn't ruin it to the point of being disgusting. I like the strawberries, so I guess it’s a win.” 

John followed my lead, digging his spoon in. “That's pretty good.” 

“I really like that,” Scott dipped his spoon in for some more. “The carrot is different enough to not bore me but the rest is normal enough to make it nice.”

“It's too sweet for me,” Virgil said, putting his spoon down after his first taste. 

“I'm not liking the carrot but the rest is good, I could eat it,” Alan said, his usual aversion to vegetables or anything healthy rearing its ugly head. 

“It's all good. I don't mind the carrot either,” Gordon said, agreeing with Scott. 

Kayo, obviously emboldened after using us as test subjects, risked tasting it herself. “Not bad.” 

Well, we've tasted everything,” I said, glugging down some of John’s water in an attempt to cleanse my tongue a little. “Was there an actual point to all of this?” 

Scott and Gordon both shrugged, not that I was that surprised, there is never much point to anything that any of these idiots do when bored.

“Not really,” Scott admitted. 

“I wanted to prove you wrong,” Gordon told me, “and I think we did.” 

“How? How did you? Some of this was disgusting, it clearly didn't work. How can you honestly think that you proved me wrong in any way, shape or form?” Seriously, the mind boggles with these guys. 

“It showed that it can be done,” Gordon insisted. 

“It shows nothing!” 

“Just let it go, love,” John soothed, obviously trying to save what little sanity I have left.

“You joined in!”

“So did you,” he countered.

“I give up!” I yelled, throwing my hands up in frustration. “It’s like talking to monkeys, you’re all mental.” I climbed awkwardly off the bench and headed back to the house.

“So, did I win?” I heard Kayo ask as I rounded the corner, leaving them alone. 

Stupid competitive Tracys! I should never have left the sofa, hell, I should never have left England. I knew this would be a mistake. I’ll be insane by the end of it.

I stopped off in the kitchen to make myself a coffee, hoping it would take some of the taste away. I grabbed a few abandoned cookies and a non Johned donut and retreated to the sanctuary that was the couch and my blankets, which would be lonely without me.

I settled down, retrieved my book (I’m re-reading Outlander, which might be contributing to my Jamie Fraser love right now, all the best husbands have J names, fact) and got comfy, might as well make the most of what little peace I’d get before the chaos found me.

“Move over.”

I stayed where I was, maybe if I ignored him he would go away.

John, being John and refusing to be either insulted or put off by my rejection, simply lifted my legs and settled in their spot, dropping them back down over his lap.

I looked over my book at him as he reached for my coffee cup and gulped down half its contents. He offered me the mug and I put my book down to take it.

“Thanks,” I said because what else could I do? I sipped the coffee then put the mug down on the little table next to the couch and picked up my book again.

John took that as a sign that he was welcome to stay and started making himself at home, stealing some of the blanket and shifting to stretch out beside me. I moved over to make room, letting him settle his head on my chest as he found his tablet among the cushions.

OK, maybe there were a few good reasons to be here instead of alone at home, but I’ll never admit it outloud.


	6. Day 6

Day six of the second lockdown and I realised today that I may have been a little hasty in believing that my sons were capable of making sensible decisions. While I trust them to pilot millions of dollars worth of the most advanced rescue crafts in the world, it seems that they cannot pilot themselves in a straight line.

I was sitting at my desk, trying to do some work, real work, something I’m beginning to think that no one in this house knows the meaning of any more. I heard her before I saw anything. Pained yelping and a grunt, then silence, then some more moans of someone in obvious pain.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” I heard John ask in that tone that reminds me of my father’s, part exasperation and part disbelief. I do believe that I employ the same tone myself quite often.

“Because I have nowhere to go.” None of us did, this was hardly news.

“That makes no sense!” John argued. I snorted, arguing with your wife never goes well, you might as well try to fly your plane through a hurricane with your engine powered by a rubber band. In a word, it’s impossible, you can't fight your way through, you’d be better off flying low and waiting for the storm to pass.

“It makes perfect sense!”

“In what world?”

“In mine! Now help me.”

I heard his sigh from the lounge. I had no idea what was going on but I soon found out when John entered a minute later with her clinging to his back like a monkey. He stopped by the holotable, turned around and let go, dropping her onto the couch while she shrieked in protest.

“How dare!”

“You asked for a ride, not a gentle landing,” he shrugged and left us alone.

“Jeff,” she called over to me. Why must they always try to get me involved? 

“Yes?” I answered when I realised that there was no way I could pretend to have not heard her. Not without being extremely rude. 

“I do believe that you have failed in your duty," she started. 

"I have? How so?" 

"Your son is no gentleman.”

I locked my jaw so I wouldn’t laugh, not even a hint of a smile would grace my lips.

“I’m sure there’s a very good reason for his atrocious behaviour.”

“There was no good reason at all,” she sighed deeply, going quiet for a second or two. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance that you feel like passing me my book, is there?” 

I looked up, the book in question was on the other side of the holotable, closer to her than it was to me. I shook my head.

“Didn’t think so,” she hauled herself to her feet and made her way slowly around the table, wincing and groaning with every step. She retrieved her book and made her way back, making as big a fuss as she had the first time. I waited until she had sat back down to ask, unable to resist, although I tried to sound casual, it wouldn't do to give her too much attention, then she'd never stop.

“So, what gives?”

“My feet hurt.”

I glanced over at her feet, which were propped up on the table. Now, I don’t claim to know much about women’s fashion, but I’m quite certain that it’s not exactly what the youngsters call ‘a look’ to pair what appeared to be a pair of John’s pyjama bottoms and Scott’s hoodie with a very high pair of backless heels, which she was wearing with a thick pair of Virgil’s socks.

“The shoes?” I asked.

“Yep,” she nodded. “Since we have nowhere to go I thought I’d break them in, but even with these,” she pointed to the socks, “they are absolutely killing me.”

“I’ve heard it said that beauty is pain and that if you have no pain there is no gain,” I told her helpfully.

“Said as someone who has never suffered like this,” she responded in the most pathetic voice I’d ever heard from her. 

Thankfully she opened her book and settled down. With peace restored I returned to my work.

She stayed in her spot, quietly reading and allowing me to concentrate for over an hour, in fact the silence was only broken when Virgil came in.

“Are those my socks?”

“Yep,” she answered. Virgil just shrugged and took a seat beside her, picking up his graphics tablet and stylus. He’d always been the laid back one, even as a child, very much the peacemaker. He was more likely to try to stop an argument than start one and nothing much phased him.

“Why are you wearing them?” he asked once he was comfy. “Not that I mind, I’m just curious as they don’t seem to match anything…” he trailed off, taking in the rest of her outfit. “Never mind.”

She narrowed her eyes but obviously remembered that she was dealing with Virgil and not one of the others so let it go, leaning closer against his side to watch him sketch.

They didn’t move again until Scott and Alan came in, then it was only a matter of time, it always is. 

“Scott?”

“Yeah?” he looked up from his phone.

“Do you want a coffee?” she asked sweetly.

“Yeah, I could go for one.”

“Cool, make me one while you’re at it, thanks.”

Alan sniggered. Scott snorted.

“Yeah, no. But nice try.”

“I make you coffee all the time,” she accused. “You can’t do this one thing for me?”

“You say I make rubbish coffee, so you must be really desperate if you’re asking me,” Scott stated. “The fact that you are even considering it shows there has to be a reason for it, the question is, what is that reason?”

“I’m tired,” she lied smoothly but Scott didn’t look like he believed her.

"Try again."

“OK, OK, my feet really hurt, these shoes are killing me,” she admitted.

“Then take them off,” Scott shrugged, no longer really listening since it was her own fault.

“It’s not that simple,” she argued. “Come on, be nice to me!”

“I will never understand women,” Scott sighed, putting aside his phone. “Fine, what do you need?”

She lifted her arms up and made what she calls 'grabby hands', a little pout on her face, looking rather pathetic I must say.

I’ve always told my sons, remember the code of International Rescue, never give up at any cost. I’m not proud to say that Scott gave in very easily. He got to his feet, dragged her up into his arms, waiting until she wrapped her legs around his waist before he carried her to the kitchen.

Alan picked up his game controller and Virgil settled back to whatever it was he was drawing and I just hoped they remembered to bring me a coffee too.

“You’d better not drop me again,” I heard her warn John as he carried her back into the lounge, this time bridal style, her arms wrapped around his neck.

“I thought Scott had her,” I commented.

“He’s bringing the coffee,” John answered, sitting carefully and settling her on his lap. “There, better? Are you happy now?”

“Yes,” she accepted the coffee that Scott handed her, as did I. Virgil took one off the tray and handed it to John before taking one for himself, leaving one for Scott. Alan had a glass of milk, since he doesn't like coffee. 

“So, why couldn't you take off your shoes?” Alan asked innocently, apparently not noticing John’s frantic head shaking behind her or the fact that he had a milk mustache.

“I’m breaking them in.”

“They’re shoes, you just pick your size and wear them,” Alan scoffed, unimpressed by both her answer and her dramatics.

The glare she threw at him, by rights, should have killed him, all three of his brothers and myself sucked in a breath and winced in sympathy.

“What?” he asked. “You put them on and walk, it’s not rocket science.”

The boys groaned in stereo, something I just about resisted joining in with.

She scooched sideways off John’s lap and over onto Virgil’s giving John her feet. He took the hint and unbuckled the little straps from around her ankles and removed her torture devices. Then he tossed them at Alan.

“What?” Alan stuttered, “what am I supposed to do with these?”

“Put them on,” she ordered. 

“No way!”

“But I thought you said it was just a case of putting them on and walking in them,” she smiled innocently. 

I was watching Alan carefully by this point and I could tell by his expression that he didn’t know what to do, there was no way he could win this. If he refused he would have to admit that she was right and he was wrong, but if he agreed he’d be putting on her shoes. He was out of options, he had to make a decision.

He reached for the shoes and tugged them on with minimal effort. Luckily for him (though don’t tell her I said so, women can be a little sensitive) she has larger than average feet for a woman, she claims it’s because she's tall and needs them for balance.

Alan got his feet in and lifted his legs to show them. “There, I’m wearing them, happy now?”

“Now walk in them,” her expression dared him to refuse.

Knowing he was beaten (it seemed to be a theme for my sons today) Alan staggered to his feet, wobbling on the stick thin heels. He immediately fell over. His brothers managed to hold in their laughter quite admirably, I felt.

He got back up and managed to totter a few steps, shaking like a jelly before he was down again. This time they cracked, starting to laugh.

“It’s not funny,” Alan huffed, yanking off the shoes and tossing them towards Virgil. “Here, you try if you think you can do better!”

"Nope, not gonna happen," Virgil protested, shaking his head. 

"Why? You scared you'll do worse than me?" 

Virgil, I was surprised to see, must have been feeling quite bored. Usually he was the one I could trust not to rise to the bait like that, but alas, enforced isolation seemed to do crazy things to everyone. 

"Fine!" He bent down, tugging her shoes on as best he could, although he really had to squash his foot in and the end of his heel was hanging over the end. 

He got to his feet unsteadily. 

"Ow, these hurt already, I can't feel my toes."

"Welcome to my world," she said, rolling her eyes at his over exaggerated wincing. 

He stumbled, trying to flex his toes, standing on one foot then the other, balancing badly for a moment before toppling sideways onto the couch. 

She took pity on him and got up to help him, now that her feet were free from their prison, or so she said. 

She dragged him upright again and let him hold on to her shoulder as he tried to walk, his ankles rolling, feet folding under him as he flopped and wobbled.

"What are you all doing?" Gordon demanded to know, appearing as if by magic in the doorway. He's always had a knack for turning up whenever there is trouble brewing, sniffing it out like a bloodhound usually to exacerbate it. His squid sense he calls it. He knows when he's missing out on something, he can feel it calling him like a siren song. 

Virgil spun round so fast that he fell over again, crashing back down onto one of the launch seats and refused to move again, tugging the shoes off with a sigh of relief. 

"Why were you wearing her shoes?" 

"Because Alan took them off," Virgil answered, massaging his toes. 

"Alan? Why were you-" 

"He thought I should just put on my shoes and walk in them, as that's all you have to do."

Gordon frowned, unable to understand. His mother used to call that his "straining" face, it was always unclear as to whether he was thinking or filling his diaper. 

"That is what you do with shoes," his tone was slow and precise as if he were telling her that the sky was indeed blue. 

It seems that none of my sons have inherited my ability to know when to keep their mouth shut. Not everything in life needs a response. 

Scott, Virgil and John all groaned, knowing he was doomed. 

He got the shoes on easily enough, apparently they are about the same size which prompted Gordon to declare that the best things come in smaller packages and that it's not the size it's what you do with it that counts in response to the teasing comments he received. 

That led to a few back and forth comments with each trying to outdo the other. I've no idea where their competitive nature comes from. 

"It's not the size of the sub that matters, it's the motion of the ocean," Gordon preened. 

"It's not the size of the nail, it's the force of the hammer," Virgil countered. 

"It's not the size of the man but the heart that gives it," she added, trying to be romantic apparently. 

"It's not the size of the worm on the hook but the way that you wiggle it," Scott retorted with one of his patented grins and an eyebrow waggle, making them all burst out laughing. 

"No, you're all wrong," John told them once they had calmed down. "The thrust of your engines and the size of your rocket means nothing if the pilot can't stay docked long enough for all the passengers to get off."

There was stunned silence for a second in which she patted his knee appreciatively. 

"And you said I failed in raising him to be a gentleman," I tutted, not looking up from my screen. Their heads whipped round to stare at me, like they had forgotten that I was even there. 

"You said I wasn't a gentleman?" John asked, clearly shocked. "When? Why?" He sounded so insulted and I don't really blame him. 

"You dumped me on my arse on the couch!" 

John's eyes narrowed, clearly debating if he should threaten further abuse of her backside with his hand but he wisely kept quiet. Maybe there's hope for him yet. 

Alan didn't join in because he said it was weird and gross, I too kept my mouth shut, I wouldn't want to show them up. 

Gordon got to his feet, with much flailing and newborn foal legs and took a few steps, it didn't go well, he says his nose will never be the same again. 

She was looking very smug by that point, as well as highly amused by their attempts to walk in what amounted to skyscrapers. I'm just wondering what I did to deserve this. 

I'd spent longer gaping at them in utter despair and disbelief than I had working and I forgot I had my glasses on when I did that thing the kids call a face palm, a mistake I won't make again. 

"Why do you do this?" Gordon asked, dragging the shoes off his feet and tossing them back to her like they were radioactive. "Why do you suffer when you could just wear sneakers?" 

"Because they make my calves and butt look great," she shrugged. "You guys just don't have the knack." 

"There's a knack?" Alan asked in a disbelieving tone. 

"Yep," she stood up (minus the shoes which were abandoned on the floor) and gave a demonstration. "You have to plant your feet, walk with sure steps, keep your head up, back straight. Heel to toe, not toe to heel or you'll wobble."

They all look at her like she was speaking an alien language. 

"Heel to toe?" John repeated slowly. 

"Yes, heel to toe, like heel down first, then lower onto your toes. I bet you're all trying to put your toes down first in a valiant quest for stability, then going to your heel, but that won't work."

"It won't?" Scott asked, his mind obviously unable to comprehend her words or meaning, perhaps both. They had all been trained in such skills as rock climbing and some martial arts in order to deal with any situation that arose, and in all of those you mostly worked from your toes first. She was fighting a losing battle if she thought she could undo years of training and get them to understand. 

They continued to look blankly at her until she threw the shoes back at Alan, who reluctantly put them back on. 

Alan, followed by Virgil and Gordon, tried to make sense of her instructions with various degrees of success and much hilarity from their audience, I just wished I had an answer as to why they are like this. I've never been this bored, personal note: ask Mother to find them some more jobs to do around the house to make themselves useful. 

"You're all useless," Scott laughed, pulling me back from my musings. 

"I'd like to see you do better," Alan huffed as Gordon slid the shoes off. 

"Yeah, come on Scott, don't just sit there laughing. You can't judge if you haven't tried yourself," Gordon teased. 

I could see the cogs turning in his head. I'd like to say that I had faith in him making a sensible decision but I fear I'd be kidding myself. 

"Fine, give them here!" Yep, there's no fool like an old fool, misplaced faith indeed. 

I watched as Scott attempted to tug the shoes onto his feet, although he and John have the largest feet of all the boys and there was more than two inches of heel hanging over the end and his toes must have been bent double to have fitted in. 

She helped drag him to his feet and, to our intense surprise, while it took him a moment or two to find his balance, after a few wobbly steps he actually managed a lap of the holotable. 

He came to a halt in front of his chair, raised his arms in victory and flopped back down, lifting his feet for her to reclaim her heels. 

"How on earth did you do that?" Alan asked in what sounded like a mixture of awe and disbelief that he had witnessed such a thing from his heroic big brother. 

"I just listened to her instructions." 

"Rubbish," she laughed. "You never listen to anyone, let alone me. You said only last week that you've learnt to tune out my frequency and now I'm just noise to you." Scott snorted at that, looking very pleased with himself. 

Virgil, I noticed, had stayed mostly silent throughout his brother's walking in her shoes although I knew my boys and I knew he was thinking about something. 

She had pulled one shoe off Scott's foot but was wrestling with the other, so much so that John had to grab her around the waist and yank her while she held onto the shoe. 

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you'd done this before," she muttered at Scott as she dropped her shoes on the floor and curled up on John's lap, apparently having forgiven him for his ungentlemanly behaviour. 

Silence from Scott and a slight wheezing laugh from Virgil was all that was needed for us all to know that things weren't as simple as they appeared to be. 

"Spill it," she demanded. 

As I listened a story poured out of an unwise bet, a lost race and Scott in red knee high boots for a night on the town. I wonder if I'll ever feel surprised again when it comes to my family…

"I suppose I had better put those back on," she sighed once they all stopped laughing and I had stopped wondering if it was possible to sign adult children up for adoption. 

John, I realised, hadn't tried the shoes on, appearing to have flown under their radar with all the stealth of Thunderbird Shadow. I wasn't about to remind any of them of that fact. 

Virgil retrieved the shoes and handed them to her. She reluctantly took them and slid one on, a mild look of surprise on her face. She took it back off and pulled Virgil's socks off then put it back on again. She wiggled her toes, flexed her ankle, then pulled on the other. 

She clambered off John and stood up, taking an experimental step. We all waited for the inevitable moans of pain but none came. She walked a bit, doing a lap of the holotable, all of them yanking their legs out of the way. She was steady on her feet and surprisingly quick for such high, not to mention spindly, heels. 

"Oh my gods," she gasped, doing a little happy jump. "The combination of all your big clown feet have stretched them out perfectly! Now I know what to do next time!"

Boys, if you ever read this, take my advice, remember it well. You may think you've won the round, but you will certainly lose the war. Women will always find a way to get what they want.


	7. Day 7

Day 7 of Isolation on Tracy Island 2.0

It started with Gordon, which it generally does, but this time it actually wasn’t that bad, although I do think he was very brave to start things the way he did.

We were all lounging around in what Grandma 'affectionately’ refers to as our ‘melting ice cream’ poses. By this she means that we have effectively melted all over whatever we were sitting on, spreading ourselves out in an attempt to take up as much room as possible. I had been lying across both Gordon and John but now I was sitting between them while Scott sat in front of the couch between my legs as I tried out different hairstyles on him because, in my infinite wisdom, I’d decided he needed a new look. It wasn’t going well, he did not suit the Elvis look. Now I was attempting to brush it forward and up like Alan’s.

“Hey, John,” Gordon started, breaking the comfortable silence of the room. I couldn’t see John, since I was concentrating on the back of Scott’s head, but I could feel the power of his eyes roll as his concentration and peace was distrubed.

“Yes?” 

“Do you remember that game we used to play?”

“Which one? There were so many games that I’ve blocked most of them from my memory.”

“I mean the one you were actually good at.” 

Scott sniggered and I gently flicked the back of his head in punishment.

“Excuse me, I was very good at games and still am.”

I nodded supportively and received a gentle waist squeeze in thanks for my efforts. 

“I meant that one that you used to completely dominate us in,” Gordon continued. “I just can’t remember what it was.”

“Again, there were many games…”

“Scott, do you remember?” I asked, trying to head off a potential argument before it started.

“I’m trying to think of one that John was good at-” I flicked his head again, making him duck out of the way as he laughed.

“I’ve never been so insulted,” John gasped.

“Give them time,” I muttered, dragging Scott’s head back into place and attacking him with my brush again, fluffing up his hair by backcombing it, let him try to brush that out later…

“We used to play it on long journeys to pass the time,” Gordon continued, clearly frustrated that he couldn’t recall exactly what it was.

“Ask Virgil,” Scott suggested. “He might know.”

The chonky one was duly summoned, Alan coming in with him, Kayo trailing in behind.

“You comm’d?” Virgil greeted, sinking down into one of the launch seats.

“What was that game we used to play on journeys? The one John always beat us at,” Gordon asked, not bothering with the pleasantries of a hello. “When we were kids.”

“John played games?” Alan asked, completely dumbfounded.

“Hey!” John protested. “Why is everyone picking on me today?”

“Because you’re actually here?” Scott shrugged like that explained everything.

“You’re on your own,” John huffed, dragging me onto his lap and away from Scott, leaving him with my brush stuck in his hair. “Can’t be nice, you don’t get my wife. That’s the rule.”

Virgil, who had been pretty quiet the entire time, finally spoke. “I went to the park.”

“You what now?” I asked. Had he finally cracked? We weren’t allowed to go anywhere, no unnecessary journeys, and I doubted that leaving the island to go to a park counted as necessary. 

“That was the game,” he explained patiently. “Someone would start and say ‘I went to the park’ or wherever it was we were going that day.”

“Oh, yeah, now I remember!” Gordon cheered. 

“You made a game out of saying where you were going?” I asked, completely bemused. It seemed like a pretty rubbish game if you asked me.

“No, we said what we were taking,” Virgil replied.

“Am I being dumb here?” I really didn’t get it. What were they talking about? “Surely if you were going somewhere you would have to take things with you, that’s not a game, that’s just sensible.”

“No,” Gordon laughed, finding my dumbness sooooo amusing. “It’s a game.”

“I don’t get it either,” Alan said quietly. “I never played that, we never really went anywhere when I was younger.”

“It was a game that Mom used to play when she was little, her dad used to start it to stop them being bored while driving,” Scott told us as he wrestled the brush out of what was now his fringe, leaving it sticking up at the front like a poodle’s.

“I’ll start,” Gordon offered, thinking for a second before he spoke again. “I went on a rescue and I packed in the pod...an alligator.”

Everyone burst out laughing, both at his object but also the fact that he’d changed it to a rescue.

“Scott, your turn,” Gordon said.

“I went on a rescue and I packed in the pod an alligator and a baseball bat,” he said after a moment of thought. “If that alligator starts any trouble, I’ll finish it.”

“Sounds legit,” I whispered to John who smirked in response.

“I went on a rescue and I packed in the pod an alligator, a baseball bat and a corned beef sandwich,” Virgil continued, taking up the reins of the game.

“Oh, I get it!” Alan grinned, catching on. “You have to remember what everyone else is taking and add your own! Can I play?”

“Of course you can,” Scott said.

“OK, OK, I’ve got this,” Alan paused as he thought about it. “I went on a rescue and I packed in the pod an alligator, a baseball bat, a corned beef sandwich and a didgeridoo! John, your turn.”

“I’ll kick all your butts, you wait,” John warned them, then quickly rattled off the items followed by his own. “I went on a rescue and I packed in the pod an alligator, a baseball bat, a corned beef sandwich, a didgeridoo and an ephemeris.”

“Oh, so you’re playing that move again, are you?” Scott snorted. “Sneaky. This is why he always won, he’s not smarter, he just knows weird words.”

“I resent that, I’m much smarter than you.”

“Kayo? Are you playing?” Virgil asked, trying to keep the peace.

“Sure,” she shrugged, not having anything better to do. “I went on a rescue and I packed in the pod an alligator, a baseball bat, a corned beef sandwich, a didgeridoo, an ephemeris and flight goggles.”

Gordon nudged me. “Your turn.” 

“No way,” I protested, shaking my head. “I’m useless at games like this, I have the memory of a goldfish with amnesia.”

“You aren’t that bad,” John said, trying to defend me. I appreciated the effort but I knew he was lying.

“Babe, I’m the one that forgot where I put my phone and started looking for it before I realised I was talking to you on it.”

“Well, there is that.” Cue the sniggers from the peanut gallery. 

“I appreciate the fact that you didn’t laugh at me when you asked me what I was looking for, so thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“No, you have to join in, we won’t laugh, we promise,” Alan assured me. I’m not sure I believed it possible for them not to laugh at me, but there was a first time for everything I supposed.

“OK, I’ll try,” I sighed. “Let me think...I went on a rescue and I packed in the pod an alligator, a baseball bat… something about a sandwich…” my brain protested the sudden workout. “ Corned beef,” I yelled triumphantly and continued. “A didgeridoo, a...effie...something that John said, and Kayo’s flight goggles. There, done.” I smiled proudly. “I remembered.”

“Good job,” Scott grinned. He didn’t actually laugh but I kicked him gently as a warning.

“You didn’t add your item,” Gordon reminded me. “You have G.”

“Oh, yeah..erm…a g…” brain fart. I had nothing. John whispered in my ear and I happily shouted it out. “Gyroscope.”

“Hey, no helping, that’s cheating,” Alan protested, clearly enjoying himself.

“Fine, grapes, I’m taking grapes, if Virgil can take corned beef I can take that.”

“You can take your grapes,” Gordon agreed, narrowing his eyes at John who stared back innocently. “I went on a rescue and I packed in the pod an alligator, a baseball bat, a corned beef sandwich, a didgeridoo, an ephemeris, flight goggles, grapes and a holopad in case I get bored.”

“I went on a rescue and I packed in the pod an alligator, a baseball bat, a corned beef sandwich, a didgeridoo, an ephemeris, flight goggles, grapes, a holopad and an icepick,” Scott continued.

“I went on a rescue and I packed in the pod an alligator, a baseball bat, a corned beef sandwich, a didgeridoo, an ephemeris, flight goggles, grapes, a holopad, an icepick and a jackhammer," Virgil said. 

“I went on a rescue and I packed in the pod an alligator, a baseball bat, a corned beef sandwich, a didgeridoo, an ephemeris, flight goggles, grapes, a holopad, an icepick, a jackhammer and…a kayak!" Alan yelled as he thought of an appropriate word. 

“I went on a rescue and I packed in the pod an alligator, a baseball bat, a corned beef sandwich, a didgeridoo, an ephemeris, flight goggles, grapes, a holopad, an icepick, a jackhammer, a kayak and a llama," John continued. 

"Why would you take a llama?" Gordon asked. 

"So it can spit at people that get too close," John shrugged. 

"I went on a rescue and I packed in the pod an alligator, a baseball bat, a corned beef sandwich, a didgeridoo, an ephemeris, flight goggles, grapes, a holopad, an icepick, a jackhammer, a kayak, a llama and a machete," Kayo said, adding her to the list. 

"Why are you all so aggressive in your packing? I asked. 

"Always be prepared," Kayo quoted. "Your turn."

"I went on a rescue," I sighed, not in the least happy with my involvement, "and I packed in the pod an alligator, a baseball bat, a didgeridoo, A John thing," I got a little kiss for that, why I don't know, maybe just because he felt sorry for me. "Goggles, an ice cube, tablet, the llama and that machete that miss violence is taking to probably smack people with," I finished up. 

"Well, you did miss a few," Alan admitted, "sorry."

"Does that mean I'm out?" 

They all nodded sadly but I was secretly pleased. I mean, I did my best but yeah, not my kind of game. I settled back against John, more than ready to be a casual observer, that was much more my style. 

Gordon was out next, then Scott, followed by Virgil, with Alan, Kayo and John fighting it out for the title. They were on their second round of alphabet and had hit 'E' when Alan lost his train of thought. 

Kayo added keeper, the loop on a belt that the end tucks into but John threw out a Snellen Chart, the thing you had to look at in the doctors surgery decades ago, where he dredged that word up from I can only guess. I'm pretty sure he's got a box up in his brain that is just full of useless facts, weird words and probably the eleven times table or something. 

He won. He's sitting very smugly, having proved his point and retained his crown.

"See, I can play games," John grinned. 

"That was really fun," Alan said with a happy little sigh. "I sometimes feel like I missed out on a lot of the things you guys did before we lost Mom."

"Well, we've got plenty of time now to remember them all and tell you all about them," Scott promised him, ruffling his hair as he passed by, making Alan yelp and hurriedly smooth it back down again. 

"Three…two…" I started, waiting. 

"What did you do!?" Scott yelled from somewhere in the kitchen, there were many reflective surfaces in there. 

"One," John finished for me. "Want to come with me to check on EOS?" 

"Probably wise," I agreed, hauling myself up from the comfort of his lap. "Let's make it quick, before Scott finishes fixing the mess I made of his hair and comes seeking revenge."


	8. Day 8

Day 8 of Isolation on Tracy Island 2.0

I can’t have been the only one to notice it, I really can’t, because it was just so out of character for the big guy that it had taken me a few days to realise that anything was going on at all. I must be losing my touch, usually I have a kind of sixth sense for these guys, that's why I’m their emotional support witch, I’m the one that keeps an eye on them, forces them to sleep when they need to and makes sure they eat.

“Hey,” I said in greeting, coming over to the desk and settling my butt on the corner. That’s how you get Jeff’s attention, you put yourself right in his eyeline and you don’t leave until he notices you.

“Hey yourself,” his eyes flickered to where I was sitting with one butt cheek on his paperwork, but he was too polite to say anything about it so he left me where I was.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure, go ahead,” he actually took his glasses off and put them down before he looked up at me, showing he was paying full attention.

“Have you noticed that something is a bit off with Virgil?”

“No, I…” he trailed off, pausing as he thought about it.

“He’s seeming a bit grumpy, like his usual morning bear with a sore head is extending further into the day than usual. I mean, we all know not to approach before he’s had his morning bucket of coffee, but this is a bit extreme, even for him.”

“Now that you mention it, he has seemed a little on edge.”

“That’s a bit of an understatement, he actually growled this morning when his toast took too long to pop up.”

“Well, yes, that is a bit unusual.”

“What can I do to help him?”

“He’s always happy when he is doing something, that’s why he hardly ever sits around,” Jeff told me. “He’s like John, he likes to stay busy.”

“What can we do then, find him something to do?”

“That would be my suggestion, yes.”

“Do you have a suggestion for something I can do with him, too?”

“Unfortunately not.”

I nodded, my mind whirling until I hit upon the most obvious solution. “I’ll ask John.”

“Good plan,” Jeff agreed, sliding his glasses back on, a sure sign that he was dismissing you in the most polite way. I took the hint and hopped off the desk and toddled off to find the hubby.

“Babe?” I dropped down on the stool next to him at the kitchen table.

“Hm?” he answered, rather noncommittally, I thought.

“Is there anything that I can do with Virgil?”

He paused in his typing to look at me.

“In what way? What’s the purpose?”

“Just to give him something to do, your dad said that he needs to be kept busy.”

John paused for a second, thinking, then pulled up something on his holotab. “The last time the mail was picked up was more than two weeks ago, you could go with him to do that,” he suggested. “There should be enough by now to be worth the trip. I think Gordon has ordered a few bits and I know you have, plus we almost always have fan mail.”

“That could work, my candle wax should have arrived by now, too.”

“Have fun...” he paused to watch Gordon slide into the room, headphones on, butt shimmying as he danced to the fridge. “Please take him with you.”

“For you, anything,” I promised, dropping a kiss on his nose. “Yo! Squidward, with me!”

Next up, drafting the chonk.

***

Virgil had been mostly back to his usual placid self on the flight to the mainland, obviously happy to have an excuse, no matter how flimsy it was, to take his ‘bird out to stretch her wings. As with all of the boys he was never as content as when he was spending time with his lady. Honestly anyone that gets with a Tracy needs to know from the start that they will be sharing their man with another and she’ll be bigger and prettier than you, sorry, just spitting straight facts.

Gordon assembled the cargo pod and, with Virgil driving it, Gordon and I jumped in the back ready to load up. Apparently the mail room had banned the use of the mechanical arm because there had been an incident with a pile of boxes that had caused an avalanche and now it had to be done by hand. 

Gordon tossed everything in to me where I was in charge of arranging it all carefully so nothing would get squished. It was quite a job, there were a lot of packages, mostly fan mail I have to say, we aren't that addicted to shopping that we could fill the pod cage that much. Some of them were very heavy too, one of which, a large packing crate that was addressed to Virgil needed both of us to lift it and slide it into the back. 

Eventually we were done and ready to head out. Now, I can’t be sure when it actually started, but I’d noticed that the patience of the chonky one had started wearing thin, he was sounding grumpier by the second, his little grunts of acknowledgement at our endless chatter now turning into something vaguely growl like.

“What’s with him?” I whispered to Gordon. He glanced at his brother then leaned in conspiritally to answer me.

“It’s his coffee.”

I frowned, not understanding. He didn’t have any coffee to be worried about. “I might need an explanation for that, love.”

“Virgil loves his coffee,” Gordon patiently explained, rather like he was telling a dog to sit.

“I’m aware.”

“The fancier the better,” he continued.

I lifted an eyebrow at that. Virgil, from what I’d seen, was a pretty straight coffee drinker. He’d take it however it came as long as it was large, hot and strong enough to wake the dead, which is what he was first thing in the morning. I barely ever saw him add milk or creamer, let alone anything fancy. It just did not compute.

“It’s our secret, but I’d be very surprised if John doesn’t know.”

“Doesn’t know what?” I was sooo curious now. How dare they keep secrets from me? I have no life at the moment, I need to live vicariously through them all, I need to know the details, I need to feel special.

“That it’s online, have you never seen the tag?” 

“What tag?” Why did I feel like we were actually having two different conversations?

He pulled out his phone and typed something in, turning to show me the screen. The tag said #podspotter and under it was a number of pictures that had obviously been taken at various times in a variety of places but that was the only normal thing about them.

In every one of them there was Virgil on his own or with Gordon and they were either in a pod vehicle, standing beside it or it was on its own. Again, not too strange until you looked closer.

In one the mole was stopped in a drive through Starbucks, in another an elevator car was parked beside a truck in a car park, in another the Helipod was hovering just in shot while Virgil walked towards it with a coffee cup in each hand. The more he scrolled the more there were.

“The fans turned it into a game, which country will the pod be in next.”

“How does no one else know about this?” I asked.

“Know about what?” Virgil asked from behind us, making us both jump.

“Your coffee addiction,” Gordon supplied, tucking his phone back into his pocket.

“It’s not an addiction,” he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks tinged a little pink. “I just have a fondness for good coffee, and if we’re already out or on our way back to the island why not stop off and get one?”

Why not indeed. I supposed he had a point, I mean, most people think nothing of grabbing a cup on the way to and from work, or at lunch or even just when out on a shopping trip or before a journey, why should he be any different.

“Is that why you’ve been grumpy?” I asked.

“Grumpy? I’m never grumpy!”

“Yeah, you are,” Gordon laughed.

“Am not!”

“You are,” I agreed. 

“That is insulting and untrue,” he sniffed, crossing his arms, his eyebrows drawn down in a scowl. We didn't say anything, we just looked at him and waited.

“OK, so maybe I’ve been a little tense,” he admitted with a sigh. There it was, the dawning of truth.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I offered. The desire to keep my boys happy was one of the main reasons I’d agreed to come back for another round of island grounding. They did so much for the world and often had to adjust their lives to fit in with helping others, they couldn’t do the ‘normal’ things that we take for granted, like jumping in the car and grabbing a loaf of bread or something for dinner without having to plan it days in advance, buy in bulk or have to abandon the trip at a moment’s notice if a call came in. It wasn’t something I really thought about, but it was times like these that brought it home a little bit.

“Not really,” he shrugged. “They are just a little treat thing. Something that feels like a reward at the end of a tough rescue. It’s not something that we do every time, but Squid here might get a brownie or something and I’ll get my coffee and we’ll take five minutes to relax a little before we go home or head out again. You need that time, those little moments of calm and normalcy when you do a job like ours.”   
The look on his face couldn’t be described as anything else but pining, like a dog who had lost his favourite toy or was waiting for its owner to come home.

“Shall we grab one now?” I asked, taking pity on him. “I could go for a latte or a hot chocolate.” The outside temperature was a little cold after the island and we’d been in the mail warehouse for over an hour, which had contributed to putting a chill in my bones. The boys were even more sensitive to temperature changes than I was, I’m English, I’m used to damp, chilly weather almost all the time, but that didn’t mean we wouldn't all benefit from a little something to warm us up.

“There’s a place near here that does an amazing white chocolate latte,” he mused, seeming to perk up a little. “You could have the best of both then.”

“Sounds perfect,” I nodded. 

“Let’s load this lot up in Two and then we can have a little lunch maybe?” he suggested as an afterthought. One thing I’ve noticed about Virgil is that he never liked to cause a fuss, he didn’t like to put people out or really ask for anything for himself. It was people like him that we’re content to chill in the background until they were needed or spoken to. People always thought that John was the quiet one, but I’d say that he and Virgil were pretty much equal when it came to attention grabbing. 

Virgil was more confident and comfortable than John in social situations, he was so laid back and easy going that you knew you could take him anywhere and he’d have a great time. He’d join in with any conversation and would make friends anywhere he went. If he was comfortable and with people that he knew well he’d happily join in with the prank pulling and brother teasing, but his inbuilt need to be the peacemaker and comforter meant that he rarely pushed his way into a situation without an invitation. He was always too worried about annoying someone, hurting their feelings or taking away their chance to talk. He often needed a little encouragement to take charge and decide what to do.

“Food is the best idea you’ve had in the last week,” Gordon agreed. 

“You always think food is a good idea,” Virgil laughed as he climbed back into the drivers seat, his bad mood evaporating now that his precious was almost in his grasp.

***

“So, how’d it go?” John asked when we got back. Seeing my arms full he jumped up to help, relieving me of some of my packages, carrying them to the bedroom for me when I started heading in that direction.

“It was fine, we stopped off for food.”

“Food?”

“I got you a grilled chicken sub, extra lettuce and pickles,” I lifted the brown paper bag I carried as proof.

“This is why I married you,” he grinned, dropping our post on the bed and reaching for the bag. 

“Well, I must say I had hoped it would be for something a little more meaningful and important than food, but I’ll take what I can get.”

“There are other reasons,” he assured me, sitting down on the edge of the end to unwrap his sandwich. “Did you find out why Virgil was grumpy?”

“Yep,” I flopped down in the squishy reading chair that lived under the window. “Caffeine withdrawal.”

John paused in his chewing, obviously trying to work out how that could be possible since Virgil seemed to have a mug surgically attached to his hand most hours of the day, then the expression cleared, comprehension dawning. 

“His post rescue speciality coffees,” he nodded, taking another bite.

“Wait, you know about them? Why did you never tell me?”

“Of course I know. I monitor all the crafts whenever they are off island, for whatever reason that is, it wouldn’t do for something to happen to one of them and for us to not have an accurate and up to date last location. I know when they stop off and I see where they go. Plus EOS found the tag over a year ago.”

“Yet you’ve never said anything?”

He shrugged. “Why would I? He’s always had a fondness for them. It started in university, he said there was something comforting about having a warm drink to sip while he was studying or in class. He didn’t drink them for the caffeine hit, it was just to keep him warm and give him something familiar. I’m not surprised he still does it.”

I shook my head, utterly lost for words. It never ceased to amaze me, the hidden depths that these boys possessed. I loved the way that they all either consciously chose not to mention things like this or just didn’t think to, but it was there all the same, a silent support and respect for each other. 

“OH MY GOD, THIS IS AMAZING!”

We both jumped, hearing Virgil’s excited bellow floating up from the lounge. We exchanged a look, then both took off to see what all the fuss was about.

We found him sitting in front of the open crate, straw and packing materials surrounding him on the floor. He had a bottle of syrup in each hand and a large jar of coffee beans on his lap. I glanced in the crate, seeing it full to bursting with more syrups, probably six other types of beans, bags of chocolate drops, tiny marshmallows, stirring sticks, sprinkles and right on top a recipe book.

“We have the best fans in the world! I’m gonna have so much fun with this.”


	9. Day 9

Day 9 of Isolation on Tracy Island 2.0

Today I spent the entire day alone with Virgil, ignoring the rest of the world (everyone but Alan). There was no reason for this ignoring, they hadn’t done anything wrong, it was more the fact that we knew if we acknowledged their presence they would try to get themselves involved and our nice, quiet day would morph into a chaotic, noisy mess. And that was not on the agenda.

I was curled up in a chair, hidden high up on the balcony in the lounge, basically hiding but pretending that I wasn’t. John had gone up to Five to check on a few things, Scott was catching up on some paperwork with Jeff, something about a video conference later that they needed to prepare for, Alan was deeply immersed in a game, Gordon had sequestered himself away somewhere to have a late night for her (but early for us) call with Penelope and Grandma and Kayo were...well I don't actually know where they were but they weren't in my immediate vicinity so they didn’t pose a threat to my peace.

“Hey, you OK up there?” the big guy called up to me from his spot down below.

“Yep!”

“Are you coming down?”

“Is it safe?” I called back.

He dutifully looked all round to check that no brother had magically materialised in the two seconds we had been talking. 

“It’s safe,” he confirmed.

“OK,” I agreed, throwing aside my blanket, putting my book on the shelf and grabbing my empty mug. “I could do with another drink anyway.”

“Then you’re in luck, I was about to offer to make you one.”

“You just want to play with your fancy coffees, don’t you?” I said as I made my way down the stairs.

“That and I want you to help me figure out the recipes, and taste test of course,” he grinned that goofy smile at me that no one can resist. “I’ll let you pick the music,” he offered in an effort to sweetener the deal. He didn’t really have to, he had me at coffee, the chance to hang out with him was just a sweet bonus. I didn’t get enough one to one time with him. We were always surrounded by people, it was actually quite rare to see a lone Virgil out in the wild. I was going to take full advantage of it. 

“Sure, let’s do it.”

***

We had agreed on the Les Mis soundtrack, a favourite of ours, to sing along to as we worked and started on the prep work.

“What coffee beans do you want to try?” he asked.

I searched through the jars, finding one that promised a strong yet mellow taste but a big caffeine kick and offered it to him.

“Really?” he looked doubtful.

“We’re not amatures,” I told him even though we were surrounded by cups, random packets and numerous bottles of syrup that we had no clue about. “Go big or go home.”

“Your funeral,” he shrugged, scooping some of the beans into his fancy pants grinder that no one else was allowed to touch.

“Why have you never done this before?” I asked, genuinely curious. "You could have bought all this stuff any time." 

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess I never thought about it before, getting the coffee after a hard day was part of the ritual. It felt normal, you know, even though I’d be standing in line in my uniform and everyone knew who I was and likely where I’d come from, you know everything is broadcast online, nothing is kept quiet, but that was OK, because it helped me feel more like a regular person on their way home from work.”

“I can understand that,” I said in response, but resisted the urge to say any more. I’d learnt from John’s tactic that if you wanted people to continue to talk you needed to show them you were listening but then stay pretty much silent. If you started talking about yourself you would turn the conversation away from them and they would likely clam up and feel like you didn’t want to listen to them, like they were wasting your time or boring you. And I wanted him to keep talking to me, I got the feeling that he didn’t often take the opportunity to talk about himself.

He pressed the button on the grinder, drowning out the music for a minute or two while he blitzed the heck out of the beans, probably for longer than they actually needed, a look of intense concentration on his face. Finally he stopped, lifting the lid to check the contents. 

“I like watching them make the drinks, it’s always oddly fascinating, artistic even, especially when they make little pictures in the froth, that’s always cool to watch.”

“I can see where that would be interesting for you,” I agreed, fetching the milk out of the fridge.

“They tried to give me things,” he mused quietly, as if he were talking to himself. “Like the coffees for free or snacks, but I always turned them down or passed them onto others in the line, because that wasn't why I was there. I just wanted the down time, the time to decompress a bit and not think for a few minutes. Does that make sense?”

“Perfect sense.”

“Most say that first responders get free drinks but I don’t count us that way. We aren’t doing the same kind of jobs, we aren’t saving lives the same way they are, we haven’t had to go through years of medical school, working another job at the same time to afford the tuition. They have the hard job, working underfunded jobs with long hours, always on call. We were just lucky enough to have a dad that made more money than we could ever spend and a desire to help people. We have the most advanced, up to date equipment in the world and that makes our jobs infinitely easier, others don’t have that luxury. But they keep doing it, the hard jobs,the dirty jobs, the thankless ones, because that's what they feel is their calling, and even when it's exhausting and scary they don't give up, that's what makes them heroes. So no, we don’t need or deserve free coffee.”

“I can see why they would think that way though, that you guys are heroes too,” I said as casually as I could, not willing to get into it any deeper because I counted them as that myself. To me they were just as amazing as the ones he was talking about. They were paramedics, fire fighters, mountain rescue, deep sea rescue, space rescue, air rescue and everything else in between. They were whatever anyone needed them to be and more importantly they were always there. 

He talked about doctors and others working long hours and always being on call, but so were they. They had missed birthdays, christmases, anniversaries, given up their days off, stopped whatever they were doing at the time to race to their launch shoots and never thought twice about it. They were the true heroes, yet they could never see it.

In some ways I think this enforced down time is a bit of a blessing for them all, but I could see now why he was having his coffee cravings, it wasn’t so much the coffee itself that he was missing, it was the reason he got them. They weren’t going out there, they weren’t helping as many people as they usually were, and in this they weren’t about to do anything to safe people. They were powerless, something that they hated to admit. They wanted to be out there, as they always were, on the front lines and getting their hands dirty. But they couldn’t be, they were having to leave it to the medical staff and rely on the scientists to do what they couldn't. It was hard on everyone in the world to be feeling so helpless, set adrift in a world where they didn’t have all the facts or really any of the knowledge, but it was probably worse for my boys. Because in this situation they were just like the rest of the world.

"I don't," he argued, his tone firm. Virgil hardly ever used his 'I'm done discussing it' voice, but when he did you knew he meant it so I wisely kept my mouth shut. 

He took the milk from me and poured some into the frother, which heated and whisked the milk at the same time, a marvelous gadget that I wished I had at home. He stayed quiet for a while concentrating on scooping some grounds into the espresso machine (another thing we weren't allowed to touch) while the milk heated.

I waited, not wanting to push him into talking more if he didn’t want to, that wasn’t what this time was about.

He poured the espresso into a jug, added a dash of vanilla syrup and then the frothed milk, mixing it gently with one of the wooden stirrers. 

"Do you ever wonder what you'd be doing if you weren't you?" he said, his tone contemplative. 

It took me a moment to unpack the question and form my answer. "No, not really, I am who I am, I do what I do because it suits me. I couldn't imagine doing anything else."

"No," he sighed as he poured the coffee into a glass mug. "Me neither. I used to think about it a lot, after a bad day when you know you've done your best but it wasn't good enough. I'd see all the people going about their normal lives with regular jobs and think it would be easier to be like them. But the thing is, I wouldn't know how to be anyone else. I wouldn't know how to do anything else and truly I couldn't see any of us doing anything different."

"I get that," I answered carefully. "You know your calling, you do what you do because it's what you're meant for. No matter how hard it is sometimes."

"Exactly that," he offered me the mug and the first taste.

"Kinda makes you quite heroic after all then," I said sneakily, seeing the small smile of acknowledgement form on his face as he got my meaning and realised he'd walked right into my trap, but he didn't argue. I took that as a good sign and called it a win. 

I risked a tiny, experimental sip. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him, hell apart from John he was the only one I trusted to produce anything even slightly palatable, but I was very fussy about my coffee. 

To my surprise the vanilla latte was perfect, the right temperature, the right consistency and with just enough of a hint of flavour. It was smooth, silky and classy as hell. 

“It's nice,” I nodded, sipping again then handing him the mug.

“But not exciting enough for you?” He knew me far too well. He tasted it himself, his face registering mild surprise, like he hadn't expected it to be that good.

I shook my head sadly. “Nope, I need chocolate, all the chocolate.”

“But you’re sweet enough,” he teased as he put the mug down and flicked through the recipe book again. “This one?” he pointed. 

I leant over to look. “Yesss, so much yes.”

“Pass me the blender then." I slid it over and got to work brewing another round of espresso, following his highly detailed instructions to the letter, since that was the only way he'd let me near the thing to help.

Checking the recipe he dumped the espresso into the blender then added a large glug of chocolate syrup. 

I scooped out four big spoonfuls of vanilla ice cream and stepped aside while he put the lid on and pressed the button. The concoction whizzed around and frothed up like crazy, especially when he added a glug of milk and did it again, leaving him with a smooth, creamy mixture. 

"More?" 

I nodded, taking the blender from him. I poured the mixture into another jug and squirted in some more syrup. 

"You truly are mad," he teased as I threw in a handful of chocolate chips I'd found in the pantry and mixed it all up with a stirrer. 

"Yep, never forget that," I mock warned as I poured out a small glassful, topped it with whipped cream and dribbled more syrup on top. I popped a straw in and offered it to him. 

"My God, that's sweet," he winced as he sucked in a mouthful. "I can barely taste the coffee."

"Give it here if you don't like it," I said, reaching out a hand. 

"I never said I didn't like it," he protested, drinking some more. "That is so good."

He finally pointed the straw in my direction, allowing me to try it. 

I do believe the noise I made was bordering on obscene. "That is amazing, oh my gods. We have to teach John how to make that so he can deliver me one every morning."

"Good luck with that," Virgil snorted.

"Must you guys shatter every dream I have?" 

"You know we'd never lie to you."

"There's lying and then there's just plain savage. The least you could do is let me live in my ignorance for a few minutes."

"Fine, but don't blame me when you're waiting until lunchtime," he set the glass aside and rinsed the frother before reaching for the milk again. 

"Well, if he fails in his husbandly duty I'm counting on you to pick up the slack," I warned him as I knocked the used coffee out of the thing he called the brew basket in the portafilter (it all sounded far too technical and engineery to me) and filled it with fresh grounds, tramped it down firmly and slotted it into place. I stepped aside to let him check and waited until he nodded his approval before starting it up. 

"Coffee is go!" 

***

We sang along to the music, loudly and dramatically, with much arm waving and quoting of lines from the movie. I snapped pictures for his social media, tagging them #podspotter so his fans could see him enjoying their gift and we had ourselves the best time. 

All in all we made six drinks, the vanilla latte, the chocolate chip frappe, a flat white, an iced salted caramel latte, a cappuccino and finally a peppermint mocha. 

By the end we were a little sick of drinking them, our taste buds were confused and we were in need of a break. But we were incredibly proud of our efforts. 

We cleaned up the mess we'd made, popping the leftovers in the fridge to enjoy later and wandered back to the lounge to chill out for a bit before the others started wandering their way back wanting to be fed. 

"Thanks for today," Virgil started, as I flicked on the holoprojector to catch the news, lifting his arm to cuddle under, curling up against his side. 

"Literally no need for thanks, I had a great time. I think you've found your true calling, coffee maker extraordinaire."

"They weren't the best I've tasted, but for a first try they were pretty good."

"They were great, I'm sure the others will love them too, in fact, I'm starting to feel the urge for another glass of that salted caramel one."

"Well, now you've said it, I want one too," he sighed, heaving himself up out of his chair. 

I followed, not trusting him to squirt the cream right, plus he was really skimpy with the drizzle sauce. 

And that was where we found him. 

"What was in that milkshake?" Alan yelled, his eyes darting back and forth between us at lightning speed, his words sounding like he was on fast-forward. "I can smell colours!"


	10. Day 10

Day 10 of Isolation on Tracy Island 2.0

She regretted picking the extra strong coffee, both for what it did to Alan and the fact that, even though she said she felt fine, she couldn’t seem to make her eyes stay closed.

Alan had indeed drunk the entire jug of chocolate chip frappe masquerading as an innocent milkshake and it wasn’t just colours that were behaving weirdly for him. He seemed to be vibrating with hyperactive energy, bouncing around in a permanent state of alertness that I usually only saw from John or Scott when he’d been chugging those energy drinks to get his late night mission reports finished. 

We tried everything to wear him out and settle him down, but it was like having an overly excited puppy with springs for legs trying to get your attention.

“Scott! Scott! SCOTTTT! Look what I can do!” he yelled and proceeded to plant his hands on the floor, flip his legs up into the air and try to run on his hands. He didn’t get far.

Scott’s groan of despair was so deep and heartfelt, I wondered if he might walk out and never return. I hadn’t heard that one since Brandon last came for dinner and told us all about how he'd abseiled for charity wearing a fluffy bear costume, which didn’t sound too bad until you heard that he hadn't been wearing anything underneath it. Apparently the suit was very hot and heavy so he had decided, after trying it on for a few practice descents on an indoor wall, to forgo what he considered unnecessary clothing. That would have been fine if he hadn’t caught the tail on a jagged rock and not noticed. Although, seeing his bare behind on a live stream had doubled the amount of donations that had poured in. Now he was planning to try naked skydiving and was trying to get us to join him. You can guess what the answer was to that.

“Come on, dudes, it’ll be like, totally extreme! Picture it, The Bear and the Boys, think of the publicity, man. You guys are like, thrill junkies, same as me. You’ll love it, the wind in your hair, adoration of millions of fans. It’ll be off the hook!” he’d rambled, getting far too excited for his own good. Scott had had to excuse himself and hide in his office for half an hour while Brandon talked excitedly to Alan about his latest videos. I left them to it too.

Anyways, where was I? Oh yeah, Alan...

“Alan will you stop!” Witchy yelled when he crashed sideways like a felled tree for the fourth time, almost taking out Gordon who was walking past, innocent for once. 

“No! I can do this!” Alan protested, trying to right himself but just making it worse. “The world is upside down” he was lying on the floor at this point, “so if I make myself the same then the world will be right side up again! Simple.”

“No, not simple,” Scott groaned, helping pick Gordon up off the floor. “You need to calm down.”

“I am calm!” Alan protested. “I’m totally zen.”

I must say, his idea of zen is a lot different to mine.

Scott grabbed Alan’s legs and flipped him over, dragging him to his feet. 

“Woah! Are you like a wizard or something? That was totally magical!”

"He's even starting to talk like him," Gordon mused, rubbing his elbow, sore from its collision with the side of my piano. 

Witchy groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “It’s gonna be a long day, isn’t it?”

She wasn’t wrong. 

It turned out that Alan hadn’t just magically appeared in the kitchen when he’d gotten hungry, no, he’d just woken up from a four hour nap and needed a drink. So, not only was he hyped up on enough caffeine to wake the dead (or John after a three day mission stint) but he was also stuffed full of sugar…

***

“Alan, it’s four in the morning, you have to settle down,” she begged, looking so worn out I thought she might keel over. I didn’t blame her, I felt roughly the same. Gordon had gone to bed hours before, as had Grandma, Kayo and Dad. I had stayed up because it was partly my fault that we were in this situation in the first place and Scott was up because he’s Scott and just has to be involved with everything.

“I can’t,” Alan argued. “I’m not tired.”

“We are!” she insisted. “You can’t stay up all night.”

“You sleep if you’re so tired,” he snapped back. He’d been doing that all day, flipping from adorably sweet and compliant to downright murderous in an instant, we were trying not to take it personally. “I’m not tired. I’m gonna call Brandon and chat to him if you guys don’t want me around.”

“No!” Scott jumped in before we could. He knew full well that if Alan spoke to Brandon in this state he’d agree to a million crazy schemes in a matter of seconds. He had to be protected for his own good.

"We do want you around," she argued. "But we also need to lie down before we fall down. So please, if you love me at all, stop trying to sneak off to eat more cookies and vegemite, because one, it's gross, and two…its gross. Where was I going with this?" she asked me, looking so confused I had to turn away so I didn't laugh. 

“Do I even want to know what’s going on in here?” John asked, appearing in the doorway having apparently just arrived home. There were rules now, if he had finished his work and she was on the island he had to come home, no matter how late it was. EOS was perfectly capable of handling monitoring duty and most things could be coordinated remotely if it was needed, and if it couldn’t it only took eight minutes for his elevator to take him back. He had no excuse.

“Oh, thank the gods, I’m so tired and my eyes hate me, my eyelids are broken” she groaned, making grabby hands in his general direction which he ignored to stare at Alan.

“Alan drunk coffee,” Scott told him. “Their super strong coffee.”

“What? Why? Who was stupid enough to give him that?”

“No one, he helped himself, thought her frappe was a milkshake,” I told him. 

“John! You’re home! This is great! Watch what I can do!”

“No!” Scott, Witchy and I all yelled at once.

“Maybe you should stay where you are,” John suggested, obviously wishing he’d stayed in space even if that did mean he’d get yelled at later.

“I don’t want to sit anymore, I’m bored.”

We all looked at John imploringly, he was the one that Alan would always listen to. 

“Hey, Alan, do you wanna watch a movie?” John offered.

"Is that a good idea," Scott started, his expression clearly saying that he thought John was insane to even be thinking of it. We wanted Alan to settle and calm down, not get extra hyped from watching one of his action movies. 

Alan stopped bouncing for a second, looking suspicious but also interested. “What movie?”

“Your choice, what was that one you’ve been asking us to watch for months, I can’t remember?” John made his way over to the couch and Witchy shifted over to make room for him, draping her legs over his the moment he sat down.

“The new superhero one?” Alan asked hopefully.

“Sure, we can do that one,” John agreed, sending me a small smirk when Alan dropped back down on the couch, ready to watch. I gave it two minutes before he’d be leaping up again and running off to jump in the pool or something.

For once Scott didn’t dare tell Alan it was too late to start watching anything or that he should be in bed, he was just grateful that Alan had stopped rolling around the floor pretending to be a turtle stuck on its back.

“Oh, yay, I’ve been wanting to see this,” Witchy said, perking up, apparently forgetting all about her rebellious eyes and tiredness, getting what she called her second wind. We all knew that one, when you had been up so long and were so tired that you had actually gone past the point of tiredness, past the point of being able to sleep and were suddenly wide awake again.

John started the movie, lifting his arm to drape it across her shoulders when she snuggled against his side, her arm sliding around his waist. Alan shifted too, dragging his movie blanket over his legs, wedging a cushion against her side so he could lean against it, clearly getting comfortable. Scott and I exchanged a look, maybe there was hope for this plan of John’s after all.

Ten minutes into the movie Alan moved to curl up to her, both of them leaning against John, squashing him into the side of the couch, but at least they were settled. 

Another five minutes and she was yawning, her head dropping to rest against John’s shoulder.

“Tired, love?” John asked innocently, smiling softly to himself when she shook her head firmly, but soon, despite her protests, her eyes started that slow blink of a very tired person who is trying desperately to stay awake.

Alan yawned, pulling his blanket up to cover his shoulders and Scott risked a small smile in hope that he would soon be able to get some sleep himself. I didn’t blame him. The ironic part of this day was the fact that we had finished off all the other coffees to ensure we stayed awake longer than Alan.

Her eyes drooped, slowly closing but she snapped awake a moment later.

“I thought you wanted to watch this?” Scott teased her, earning himself a glare.

“I do, I am watching, look, eyes, facing the screen, watching.”

She might have said the words but her actions said otherwise.

“Shall we turn this off and watch it another day?” I asked when Alan’s head dropped forward although he instantly snapped to attention again.

“No, I’m watching it,” he answered stubbornly.

I lifted my hands in surrender and followed John’s lead, staying quiet and watching the movie.

“Why don’t we go to bed?” John murmured to her a little while later when she’d jerked herself awake for the third time.

“No, I’m not tired, I told you, I want to watch this.”

"You just fell-" Scott started but John cut him off with a warning eyebrow raise. 

"I did no such thing," she grumbled, sitting up a bit straighter to prove her point. "I was watching."

“Of course you were,” John agreed placidly, not bothering to argue with her but I did notice that his fingers snuck into her hair, playing with a few strands. She sighed softly, nuzzling her cheek against his shoulder as she watched the action on the screen, letting herself relax again. 

She lasted another fifteen minutes before she stopped fighting her body's needs and closed her eyes, letting them stay closed. 

A soft snore drew our attention and we turned from the projection to see Alan, mouth open, eyes closed, fast asleep. John shifted slightly, pulling witchy onto his lap, letting Alan's pillow slide down taking him with it. His hand snuck out, tugging at Alan’s blanket, pulling it up to cover his head.

We waited a few more minutes, sitting quietly, not wanting to risk breaking the fragile peace by waking them up, allowing them to settle deeper into sleep.

“OK, I think we’re good,” John whispered conspiritally. 

“How did you know to do that?” Scott asked, shocked to the core that his standard approach of ordering followed by threats had failed on both his brother and his best friend, while John had sailed in and succeeded with minimal effort and without raising his voice once.

“They always do that,” John said, shrugging one shoulder so as not to disturb her. “She’s a woman, you can guarantee she’ll say she wants to watch a movie but she’ll fall asleep half way through, she always does. If she can’t sleep I'll just put an episode of something on and that usually does the trick.”

He pointed to Alan. “It’s the same with him. Who do you think he called in the middle of the night when he was thinking too much about homework or the million other things that teenagers seem to worry about? Tell him to pick a movie, cover him with a blanket and he’ll be out in minutes.”

“That’s…” Scott paused, unsure what to say. “Useful to know,” he finished.

"Arguing and pushing someone doesn't always work, you have to use your brain, assess the situation and pick your battles. Tired people are stubborn people."

"You can say that again," I muttered having dealt with my fair share of tired and stubborn family members, the two worst culprits being the ones currently talking. 

“You take care of him, I’ve got her,” John nodded at Alan, smoothly changing the subject. 

Scott helped me lift Alan who, although skinny, was growing lankier by the day, all long limbs and sharp elbows that you have to arrange carefully or risk dropping him. I took him to his room, putting him to bed then returned to fetch Scott.

“He still asleep”? Scott asked, still in his chair. 

“Yep,” I answered. “He’ll be in for a surprise when he wakes up though, he hardly ever uses his bed. He'll think that he teleported again.”

"True enough," Scott chucked softly. "You need help with her?" He nodded at witchy, who hadn't moved. 

"Nope, I got this, it's not my first time." With the ease of much practice he gathered her closer, sliding an arm under her legs, shuffled to the edge of the couch and got awkwardly to his feet. "You two should get some sleep too." 

"We will," I assured him. 

"Well, see you both in the morning," he said, heading to the door. 

"Wait a second," I called and he paused. I grabbed the little notebook she'd left on the table, holding it up for him to see. "She hasn't filled this in today, you wanna take it?" 

"She doesn't trust me," he shifted her slightly, rebalancing her in his arms, her face buried in his neck. "Not since last time, though I don't know what she expected when she told me to report what had happened, reports are for the facts, I did just that. If she'd wanted me to recall every single detail of the day she should have specified that. You write it."

"Sure, I can do that," I agreed, pocketing it. 

"Night then." 

"Night, John."

"Night, Scott."

"Goodnight."

Three down, one to go. 

"Come on, bro, all your chicks are nested, now it's our turn," I said, patting his shoulder as I passed. "Even smother hens have to sleep some time."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, " he grumbled, yawning loudly, stretching as he got to his feet, too tired to even protest the hated nickname. "Bedtime."


	11. Day 11

Day 11 of Isolation on Tracy Island 2.0 and I would like you all to know that, while Virgil was very nice to write my update for me yesterday, he’s also a complete liar. I did not fall asleep on the couch, I was watching the movie the whole time…

Anyway we all got up late today, since we didn’t get to bed until late and even then it hadn’t been easy to get to sleep. I’d woken up a few times but a quick look at the clock to estimate the amount of time I’d actually been asleep, coupled with a warm John to snuggle meant that I gave in to the lure of oblivion twice before I actually got up.

I felt like death, which was strange, because usually caffeine has little to no effect on me, I can only assume that the added stress of Alan hopped up on coffee beans was the catalyst to my zombie-like state. 

Alan, it transpired, was going through an even worse caffeine hangover than I was, at least I had a little resistance. He was groaning from his bedroom complaining of a headache and full body shivers. 

So yes, we were certainly feeling delicate and, even though I desperately wanted a coffee to wake me up enough to function I knew that it would probably be a bad idea. So there I was, sipping on a hot chocolate (I delivered one to Allie too), munching slowly on a corner of my toast and just hoping that the world would stop spinning today when Grandma came in.

“What are you planning on doing today?” she asked, not bothering to offer a greeting, no good morning, no hello, nothing. I glanced over at Scott who shrugged and sipped his tea ( he was avoiding coffee too, Virgil wasn’t but it takes a LOT to put that boy off his brown nectar).

“No plans,” I was forced to admit. I saw Scott shake his head sadly, like I’d just doomed myself. I obviously wasn’t on top of things today, my brain is mush.

“Good, then you can help me with some chores.” 

I resisted the urge to groan, looking over at the big bros for support…

“Huh, where did they go?” Grandma asked me.

“Unfortunately, I don’t know,” I sighed, gulping my cocoa and wishing it was something stronger and possibly alcoholic.

“Then I guess we’ll have to work twice as hard!”

“Yes, Grandma.”

***

“John,” I whispered into my comm as I hid in a corner of the library.

“Yes?” he popped up in his hologram form, not looking at me straight away, clearly distracted by whatever he was working on.

“I have a question.”

He turned to look at me. I saw him pause, his eyes darting around, taking in my surroundings.

“I have a question too, why are you hiding behind a curtain? Where even is that?”

“Library,” I settled back against the wall. Perched on the windowsill I was indeed hiding behind a curtain. “Grandma gave me a chore list.”

“Ah,” he said, not needing to add anything else, that said it all really. “You had a question?”

“Oh, yeah, I did.”

“What was it?”

“Oh, she's made me do three loads of laundry, I’ve dusted her ornaments, cleaned the two bathrooms, which is all I'm doing by the way, I’m not touching the ensuites, they’re on their own with them.”

“A wise decision,” he agreed, crossing his arms, leaning back on nothing, suspended in midair, showing he was in the comms sphere, clearly sensing that this would be a long story. There’s no rushing me when I’m trying to explain things, you just have to accept that you're along for the ride.

“I’ve helped her change the bedding in the guest rooms, why I have literally no clue, since no one can come and visit anyway and this is a secret base and it’s not like we do a lot of tours or anything…” I trailed off, seeing the raised eyebrow of doom on my boy. “What else did we do…” I mused, trying to think and hurry my thought process along. “Cleaned all the old food out of the fridge, vacuumed the lounge and now I’m here.”

“And why are you in there? Apart from hiding from more chores, obviously?”

“Because I needed to ask you what was going on.”

Was that an eye roll? I’m pretty sure it was. 

“Going on with what? You’re the one that was filling me in on your day.”

“What’s with the Grandma?”

“Grandma?”

“Yes, Grandma. I’ve been going from room to room, ticking things off her chore list but…”

“But what?”

“Babe, I hate to ask this, but is Grandma going a little…” I couldn’t say it out loud so I settled for the universal sign that is a finger twirl to the side of my head.

“Explain.”

“Babe, I don't usually question the wiseness of Grandma's logic but this time…well...she's got me watering plastic plants,” I whispered, making a conscious effort not to shout as I usually would. News like this needed to be delivered in a delicate way, a supportive, understanding way. No one wanted to hear proof that their, let’s face it slightly elderly, grandmother was going a little cuckoo in her golden years.

I watched him carefully, it wouldn’t do to be upsetting him when he was so far away 22,400 miles away to be exact, and I couldn't be with him, but to my surprise his face registered nothing but relief with a hint of...amusement? OK, maybe a hint was being generous. 

“Dude, are you laughing at me?”

“No, love.”

“Lies! You’re laughing right now!”

“I’m laughing with you, not at you,” he promised, sobering slightly.

“Laughing with me implies that I should be laughing too, so either share the joke with the rest of the class or bugger off.” I was not impressed and fast losing patience with the love of my life.

“Sorry, sorry,” he coughed, clearing his throat in an effort to regain his composure.

I waited, arms crossed in a mirror of his earlier pose, lips slightly pursed, eyes narrowed, he sooo knew he was in trouble.

“Let me tell you a little story,” he began, finally calm enough to talk to me properly.

“Go on then, I’m listening.”

“Grandma has always loved her plants, she used to garden a lot,” he started and as usual when he spoke, I listened, one because I needed to know what was going on and two, because I just love his voice and would happily listen to him reading a menu if he so chose. I wiggled a little to get comfier and prepared to be entertained, because every story John tells is entertaining in its own way, mostly because he just sounds so fed up and done with life as he tells it. 

“She said that she found it relaxing to tend them, it gave her time to think and to order her thoughts. She would talk to them like they were her children and no one dared touch them.”

I nodded to show I was following so far.

“When we moved to the island and got busier with International Rescue it obviously started taking up a lot of time for all of us,” he reclined himself back into his lazy float giving me a nice view I must say (I’m sure he did it on purpose).

“The busier we got, the less time she had to devote to them, the more we did the more she forgot about them and it wasn’t long before the first one died. She came down one morning and noticed that it’s leaves were dried out and brown and it was slumped over in its pot. She tried, we all did, but there was no reviving it.” His tone was so serious that I couldn’t help but giggle.

“Grandma was really sad, so we decided to help if we could. Unfortunately, as it turned out, none of us have a particularly green thumb. We did our best, but failed spectacularly. As we always say, you can’t save everyone, and that isn't limited to humans.”

I nodded encouragingly, wishing I had a mug to sip from 'cause my boy was spilling the tea!

"When we noticed another was, as Gordon put it, on its way out, we stepped in before it happened and fixed it."

"You fixed it? Like it was a broken processor or something? How do you fix a dying plant?" 

He stayed quiet. 

"John?" I lifted an eyebrow demandingly. 

"We switched it out for a plastic one," he finally admitted. 

"John!" I was shocked, shocked at their sneakiness and the sheer balls of pulling off such a move right under her nose. 

"I know, I know, it was awful of us. But we couldn't think of anything else to do. She was so sad every time she lost one and we couldn't stand it."

"How many times did you do this? Because I have yet to find a real live one."

"I think you just answered your own question."

"All of them? Like every single one?" 

"Well, not all of them, the bonsai in the lounge is still alive, but that's mostly Kayo and Virgil that tend it. Kayo learnt from her dad, he loved to garden. And the outside plants usually do OK. We have timed watering for then with both underground pipework and an overhead sprinkler system. And Kayo will do a little maintenance on them, cutting them back and the like, whenever she has time which isn't often. We don't really get weeds here as the seeds have nowhere to carry from, so it's just upkeep of the plants themselves."

"But every houseplant other than the bonsai…"

"All fake," he confirmed. 

"And you never told her? She didn't notice?" 

"No, not that we know of, the fact that she gave you the job of watering them confirms that. We just kept offering to look after them for her and she let us do it. We bought the best quality we could, they look very realistic." He said that last like it made the whole thing more OK. "We did it for her, we didn't want her upset."

"Well, I honestly don't know what to think about all that," I confessed. And I really didn't, they were such sneaky little sods when they wanted to be, dangerous when working together. Sure they did it with the best of intentions and for the right reasons but still I did need to know one thing… 

"Whose idea was it?" 

"Idea?" he repeated, clearly deflecting. 

"Yes, who thought up the idea of swapping them?" I knew the answer, he knew that I knew, I just needed him to confirm it. 

Slowly he lifted his hand. 

"Yep, not surprised. Totally called it," I grinned. 

"Then why did you ask?" 

"Because sometimes I need to remind myself what a deliciously devious man you are." 

"You're a strange woman."

"A strange woman that your dumb ass married," I reminded him. 

"We all have our weak moments," he quipped but I didn't take it seriously. "I should probably get back to work, just hide out there for another few minutes and call the job done."

I nodded, seeing the sense in his words. "How long will you be?" 

"Just another few hours, I should be done by dinner."

"OK, but I'm holding you to that, Space Man." 

"Wouldn't expect anything less."

I blew him a little kiss which he dutifully pretended to catch, with much eye rolling, before he clicked off, cutting the connection. 

Sighing , still unable to believe what I'd just heard I drew back the curtain I was sheltering behind and dropped down from the windowsill. I grabbed my phone, tucking it into my pocket as I turned round. 

"Grandma!" 

There she was, waiting for me like a silent septuagenarian ninja, arms folded, one foot tapping out an annoyed rhythm. 

"Hi," I greeted, taking an unconscious step backwards. Would she notice if I threw myself out of the window like a weak willed victorian maid whose husband hadn't returned from the war? 

She glared at me. Yep, she'd notice alright. 

"Done with the chores?" she asked in a voice that told me she already knew the answer. As far as I could tell I had three choices, lie through my teeth, tell her the truth or deflect like my name was John Tracy and I was late home. 

"Well, there was a lot on the list…"

"Oh knock it off," she huffed. "I heard everything."

I slumped, there was no deflecting this.

"I'm very disappointed in you, young lady."

"I know, I'm sorry, I-" 

"I can't believe you let yourself get dragged into one of their idiot schemes. I expected better of you."

"I'm sorry, I know I let you down."

"Too right you did, I've been waiting the best part of five years for them to tell me the truth, I had hoped you'd call them out on it but they ended up with another conspirator. Perfect."

"I said I was sorry, I- wait, you knew?" 

Grandma rolled her eyes in a move that was so very John. "Of course I knew, how stupid do you think I am?" 

I sighed in relief that I wouldn't have to pull off this charade any longer, hell, I'd only been involved for five minutes and it felt like a year. "I did wonder, I mean, I noticed straight away and I don't even know that much about plants. When did you find out?" 

"Not long after they started," she shrugged. "I just didn't tell them."

"John did say they bought the best quality plants they could find," I said, feeling the need to defend my man and his idiot brothers. 

"Oh, they did that alright. They are beautiful and less work than the real thing, honestly I liked my plants because they gave me something to do, they kept me occupied but when this organisation took off I didn't need them any more."

"Then why not tell them?" 

"Because it was funny to watch them pretend to water them every week, plus I was waiting for then to realise how stupid they had been."

"Which they didn't," I supplied. 

"No, they didn't, which surprised me, I thought I'd raised them to be smarter than that." 

"They were pretty smart with it," I argued. 

"Smart? They replaced every plant that died."

"Yeah, that was kinda the point."

"Which would have been fine, if they had paid attention to the plants themselves. Roses that bloom for four years are a dead giveaway."


	12. Day 12

Day 12 of isolation on Tracy Island 2.0 and this happened... 

<https://www.dropbox.com/sh/ewhufkdhfwu41y8/AACKpuNarxe1V2eK6HJUVu5Ka?dl=0>


	13. Day 13

Day 13 of Isolation on Tracy Island 2.0

“OK, who threw that pencil at me?” Scott demanded to know. No one owned up. Honestly I didn’t even see where it had come from let alone who threw it.

“No clue,” I answered.

“I’m gonna find out,” he growled. “I could have been badly hurt!”

I sniggered to myself, for a real life action hero Scott could be so dramatic sometimes, and didn’t bother looking up from the latest copy of ‘Better Gnomes and Gardens: Witches Weekly’ that I was flicking through.

“Seriously, that could have taken my eye out, it’s like a miniature stake,” he continued to grumble.

“Talking of stakes,” I started, trying to distract him so that he didn’t go off on a ranting tangent about the danger of flying pencil projectiles, “there’s been a development with the Highgate Vampire, he’s been spotted again. Seriously, what more can this crazy year throw at us? Don’t answer that,” I warned John before he could even utter a word. I know my boy and I know that he was about to throw out some highly logical statistic or another that would make complete sense but would make me want to cry.

“Highgate Vampire?” Scott asked, distracted as I'd hoped he would be. My evil plan had worked. I turned my magazine to show him the article. “You remember, when we tried out that new ka- pub,” I corrected myself, aware of just how many of his brothers were crowded around. “We walked past the cemetery and I told you all about the legend of the Highgate Vampire.”

Scott looked blank, which is a look I’m used to seeing on him, I gotta be honest, he barely ever listens to me. “You know, I told you the story of how, back in the 1970’s a group of ghost hunters decided to try to find a vampire that supposedly lived there?”

He shook his head.

“Self appointed bishop vampire hunter dude?” I tried again.

“Oh, yes! I remember him. He’s back?”

"Who?"

"The Bishop."

"No, he's dead, the vampire."

"The vampire killed him?"

"The Bishop is dead of natural causes, and the vampire has been seen again," John supplied.

“Yes," I agreed." Apparently so, and they’re blaming him for this virus outbreak.”

Everyone went quiet for a second, not sure what to say to that. John reached out a hand and I passed over the magazine so he could read it for himself.

“Why do you read this rubbish?” he asked after perusing the rest of its offerings.

“Why wouldn’t I want to know that blue aliens brought Elvis into that lady’s garden?” I asked, genuinely perplexed.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” he told me honestly, handing the magazine back to me.

“Do you remember that time that Virgil thought he was a vampire?” Scott suddenly asked him.

“Oh, God, yes. I hadn’t thought of that in years,” John laughed.

“Wait? He what now? There were vampires involved? Why was I never told about this? This is my one area of expertise and you've been holding out on me?”

“I did not think I was a vampire,” Virgil corrected them. “Our high school math teacher did.”

I tossed the magazine aside, this was far more entertaining than anything I’d find in there.

“Spill,” I demanded.

“It’s really not that interesting a story,” Virgil insisted, trying valiantly to deflect us.

“He was a sophomore, so about fifteen years old,” Scott started, dodging out of the way when Virgil threw a pen at him this time. Scott narrowed his eyes, like he wasn’t sure if that was proof that he had been the perpetrator of the pencil or not. Virgil, for his part, looked innocent. Pen, what pen? I saw no pen? What even is a pen? Isn’t that something you put pigs in?

“And he had to have two of his back teeth out due to overcrowding,” John continued, grabbing me and yanking me onto his lap, using me as a human shield when Virgil lifted his sketch pad threateningly.

“I’m so glad I married such a brave rescuer,” I deadpanned as John continued to hide behind me. "My hero."

“I was driving him back from the dentist and he was still a little out of it from the sedation they had given him,” Scott took up the tale.

“I’m just not a big fan of the dentist, OK?” Virgil defended himself. "They have to sedate me."

“His gums were still bleeding and he’d spat the gauze out within a minute of getting out of there,” John continued, ducking back behind me when Virgil glared at him.

“They’re going to tell it anyway,” I told him, “so why don’t you do it instead?”

Virgil nodded, seeing the wiseness in my words.

“My gums were bleeding but I didn’t know what to do with it all, I didn’t want to swallow it and to be honest, I was still pretty woozy, so I just kinda let the blood collect in my mouth.”

“Aww, that must have sucked, babe, I’m sorry.”

He nodded at me in thanks for my sympathy, something he was NOT getting from his brothers.

“We stopped at some lights and by that point my mouth was getting pretty full-”

“He was drooling like Alan at nap time,” Scott butted in.

“Did you not give him a tissue or something?”

“No, he was evil.”

“I was driving and I don’t carry things like that on me as standard,” Scott argued.

“I’ll pick you up if anything like that happens again,” I promised the big guy. “For girls our cars are like an extension of our house or our handbags, there's tissues, lip balms, snacks, bottles of water, everything.”

“Thank you,” Virgil sniffed, casting Scott a smug look, knowing I was firmly on his side.

“So, how is this vampire related?” I had to ask, I mean, I was sympathetic but I was also nosey as hell.

“I wound down the window as we stopped at the light,” Virgil continued. “And I...well, I was still a bit muddled…”

“He opened his mouth and all this blood came oozing out, it just dribbled everywhere,” Scott practically yelled, bursting out laughing.

“Why are you laughing, you evil thing?”

“Because,” John piped up from behind the shelter of my person, “the car next to Scott’s was Mrs Beddleman’s. Virgil, recognising her, breaks out into this wide, goofy and completely bloody, smile.”

“She looked absolutely horrified and even though she wasn’t going that direction she turned right to get away from us. She was a very religious lady and she took to wearing a cross to school for the rest of the year until I left her class.”

“And she moved his seat to one beside the window,” Scott howled, doubled over laughing.

I bit my lip, trying very hard not to laugh.

“It’s OK,” Virgil sighed, “you can laugh.”

“I don’t want to,” I told him as seriously as I could. “But I really don’t think I can help it.”

I made the fatal mistake then, I glanced at Scott who was at the point of silently laughing, his body shaking and I cracked.

“It’s not like I’m the only one that had bad anesthesia reactions,” Virgil said slyly and I snapped to attention.

“Are you not?”

“Nope,” he shook his head, grinning now. “We’ve all had broken bones and hospital stays over the years.”

“Oh, oh, tell me a Scott one!”

“He had an appendectomy when he was twenty. He was taken in for day surgery and when he woke up he was completely coherent,” Virgil started.

“He was?” Knocked out Scott had to be different to sedated Scott, because sedated Scott was hilarious and very snuggly.

“What can I say, I have a strong constitution,” Scott preened.

“He’s lying,” Virgil continued. “He was talking normally, answering questions and the doctor said he was doing great and could go. He was starving, hadn't eaten since the night before and he insisted that the only thing he would eat was Chinese food, and it had to be a buffet, nothing else would do."

"I mean, he's not wrong, there is nothing like a good Chinese," I agreed.

"Well, it appeared that he hadn't been as recovered as we thought he was."

"What happened?"

"I came round from the anesthesia sitting in the restaurant and as far as I knew I'd just gone under in the operating room and I'd woken up with a plate of chicken teriyaki on a stick in front of me."

John sniggered, muffling his laughter against my shoulder.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing,” Scott huffed. “Have you forgotten about when you had your tonsillectomy?”

“That was not my fault,” John mumbled, clearly regretting his previous amusement.

“Oh gods, what did you do?” I asked him, turning my head to look at him over my shoulder.

“Nothing! I was just talking to the anesthesiologist.”

“The anesthesiologist was new to the hospital so hadn’t met any of us before,” Virgil started.

“Do I take it that you all had frequent user passes? Like buy ten ops and get the eleventh free?”

“Pretty much,” Scott shrugged, unashamed of just how bad that sounded. “So John’s there, being himself, talking to the surgeon and anesthesiologist about the operation and what they were planning, how long it would take, telling them what they needed to do, that sort of thing-”

“I like to know what to expect,” John defended himself.

“Swot,” Gordon teased, coming in at the tail end of John’s mini rant, Alan trailing along behind him.

“It’s not a bad thing to want to go into a situation with full knowledge of it. Research and a game plan are only sensible. How do you expect to get good at something if you don’t know the mechanics behind it?” He glanced around at his brothers who looked less than convinced. “You know you’ve all been grateful for my expertise more than once.”

“I know I have,” I agreed, ignoring the raised eyebrows that came my way. Let them think dirty things, that was their problem. I received a small kiss to the side of my neck thanks for my support so I’m not going to complain.

“So, what were you guys talking about?” Gordon asked, flopping down on the couch beside Virgil.

“They were sharing with me their tales of woe under the effects of anesthesia and sedation,” I informed him.

“Oh, yes, we’ve all got those,” Gordon agreed. “Which one was John telling?”

“The time when he had his tonsils removed,” Scott helpfully supplied.

“I don’t remember it,” Gordon frowned.

“Neither do I,” Alan added.

“He was talking to the anesthetist, we got that far,” I said.

“He was talking to him as they were asking him to count down from a hundred,” Virgil continued.

“I only remember getting to ninety-one,” John told me.

“We were outside in the relatives room, waiting for him to be taken to recovery,” Scott took up the tale. “We had only been in there about fifteen minutes when the anesthesiologist and a nurse came out looking like they had seen a ghost.”

“Dad stepped up and demanded to know what the problem was and if John was OK,” Virgil said. “It turned out that John had been far more coherent than he remembered and hadn’t stopped counting at ninety-one.”

“He’d gotten to sixty-two but when he reached eighty-nine he’d apparently switched to fluent Japanese, and then started talking about a wakizashi, that and asking them about their day.”

“A what now?”

“A small, fourteenth century Japanese sword,” John supplied.

“The anesthesiologist was actually Japanese and he had apparently called three of his peers in the ten minutes that John had been under to ask how it was possible that this Caucasian, american teenager was suddenly speaking in fluent Japanese under the influence or anesthesia.”

“It took Dad a good five minutes of solid laughter to finally tell them that they hadn’t broken John or damaged his brain in any way, he was actually fluent already,” Scott laughed.

“Apparently he gave them the biggest scare they had ever had in more than twenty years,” Virgil finished.

“I was obviously being considerate and had thought that it was more polite to talk to him in his own language rather than English,” John sniffed, crossing his arms around my waist. “I don’t see what the big deal was.”

“I’m just impressed that you were speaking it fluently at all,” I said, earning a gentle finger flick as punishment for ever doubting him. “I meant that I can only speak three languages fluently, English, bad English and Sarcasm, so anyone that can do anything else is just amazing to me,” I quickly defended myself.

“Sarcasm is your native tongue,” John mumbled. I ignored him.

“He’s mostly self taught too,” Scott added, showing that, despite how much time they all spend teasing each other, they are always proud of their siblings.

“I used to watch a lot of foreign films and TV shows to pick up the pronunciation and read a lot of graphic novels and translated books to learn how to read and write,” John elaborated. “It’s a very effective way to learn and I apparently have a gift for languages.”

“As well as many other things,” I added to be nice. “Any other stories I need to know?”

“When Gordon was having one of his back surgeries they told him that they had to strap him down and when he asked why they told him it was so he wouldn’t fall off the table and he said ‘It’s OK, five second rule’,” Scott told me.

“‘Cause I'm a snacc,” Gordon added with a grin. “Apparently I also woke up with a violent jolt and when I was asked if I was OK I apologised to the nurse and told her that I thought I was a shark.”

“You also started a joke with the nurse as you went under and finished it the moment you woke up with no prompting,” Virgil laughed.

I clapped enthusiastically for that one and Gordon bowed modestly.

“What about me?” Alan asked, finding the whole thing highly amusing.

“You’ve only been under once but you were hilarious in both the things you said,” John answered. “You apparently woke up screaming ‘Where are my wings? I want my wings? You stole my feathers you jerk! You were only supposed to take my tonsils!’ and then passed right out again.”

Gordon cracked up laughing, as did everyone else including Alan.

“You then woke up again and asked how long until the anesthetic kicked in, and when the nurse told you it was all done and had actually been two hours you yelled in her face ‘WOAH, DID I JUST TIME TRAVEL?’” John finished.

“That’s so precious,” I cooed, because Alan is adorable in everything he does regardless of what it is.

“We have a lot of stories like that,” Virgil said, “we sometimes have to give pain relief or sedate someone who is freaking out and they do the weirdest stuff.”

“They do? Is there some kind of hippocratic oath that you guys have to swear or can you tell me some?”

“No oath,” they assured me.

“One woman grabbed Virgil’s hand, stuck her fingers up in his sleeve, stroked his arm and said ‘You’d make a great carpet’,” Gordon told me.

“It’s not uncommon for people to feel stressed and unsure of where they are,” Scott continued, “they often wake up screaming or panicking, but we delivered one guy to the hospital who’d had a pretty nasty bang to the head and broken an arm. We were unable to calm him down so we had to sedate him so he wouldn’t do any more damage. He woke up as we were transferring him to the hospital gurney and he hopped off before we could catch him, pulled his pants down with his good arm and started to helicopter right there outside the hospital.”

That broke me, I’m sorry to say. I might proclaim to be far more mature than these idiots and not find fart jokes and the like amusing, but the mental image of this guy, standing there, twirling...I just couldn’t stop.

“One girl asked us if we were single and we didn’t answer and deflected by asking her if she had a boyfriend or girlfriend and she started crying that she just wanted a dog.”

“Remember that young boy who meowed the entire way to the hospital?”

“And that one lady that was really nervous so we told her to think of something nice and she started singing ‘I wish you a merry Christmas,’ but it was July!”

“And the one that said she wanted us to drop her off at the top of a rainbow so she could slide down it?”

“And the guy that woke up when we landed, looked right at Kayo and said as loudly as he could ‘Look! The love of my life! Don’t leave me, I can change!’”

“And that one guy who knocked out a few teeth and spat out the gauze we packed his mouth with and started freaking out crying ‘was that my liver? Nooo, my liver! I need that! Get back in you!’”

“A woman lost a couple of teeth too and was crying about being ugly. We gave her some pain relief and she was so hazy that, when we handed her over to the doctor and gave him her teeth she started screaming at him... what was it she said, John? You heard it over the comms and were laughing so hard.”

“She yelled, ‘Charlatan! I demand you return my teeth! They are mine and I will choose how they are to be spent!’”

I cracked up at that, mostly the way John told it, which I assume was the same way she had, like a plummy Victorian aristocrat that had just been insulted.

“And that teen who said ‘hey, mister, my ass itches and I’m too high to scratch it.”

“Oh, that’s pure gold,” I laughed, wiping my eyes because I was laughing so hard.

“What about you?” Alan asked me. “Have you ever done anything weird?”

“Only every day of my life.”

“I meant under sedation.”

“Oh, yeah, not really,” I shrugged. “I know that when I had teeth out once, after napping on the couch for a few hours I suddenly sat up and announced that I needed to make Mum a cup of tea. She told me I didn’t need to but I said she was my guest and I had to be polite or she’d leave me alone to die. There was no arguing with me so I got up, went to the kitchen and came back and gave her a mug of cold water with a spoon in it. I apparently said ‘drink up, luv,’ like a really bad impression of Parker and face planted the couch and passed out again. Mum made her own tea after that.”

That got a fair few sniggers and Scott threatening to take away my british card for screwing up tea so badly.

“I have to ask,” I said conspiratorially once everyone had calmed down, “has Kayo ever done anything like this?”

They all looked around, as if scared that she might be listening, then eventually Virgil nodded.

“She came round from her knee surgery after she dislocated it and insisted on trying to get out of bed. The nurse told her she had to stay put as they had just fixed her knee and it needed time to heal. She answered in the most confident, how dare you try to stop me way and informed the nurse that she was a ninja and that they heal three times faster than normal people. The nurse let her try and she dropped face first.”

Honestly, out of all the stories I’ve heard today, that one was the best. It’s nice to know that even the most capable and sometimes terrifying of us isn’t always perfect.


	14. Day 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update is brought to you by guest writer @therebelflower

Day 14 of isolation on Tracy Island 2.0

Knowing a second confinement period was going to happen doesn’t make it easier but at least we know a little more of what to expect this time. It’s not that bad, really. Things are not all that different for me, come to think of it. I still cook, clean, or try to have my grandsons act like responsible adults and do their part—and patch them up when they get injured.  
Because apparently, just because they aren’t going out on rescues doesn’t mean they aren’t still injuring themselves, and believe me, they manage to do so in the most spectacular ways. Thank goodness John’s wife arrived right before lockdown to bring a little sanity to this madhouse.  
We were both sitting at one of the picnic tables on the terrace with Jeff and Kayo, enjoying a moment of relative quietness. The boys were in the pool, playing some sort of ball game. I thought perhaps that this would be a day where nothing dramatic or ridiculous happened...  
Sigh. I should have known better.  
I must admit that there are times lately when I’m not sure what day of the week it is, or even what time of day, for that matter. So, when the alarm went off on my watch, I was as surprised as the others sitting with me. It was two o’ clock. I stopped the ringing, trying to figure out a way to go back inside to settle down with my viewing partner for another episode of the Big and the Boisterous.  
Alan, who had decided that he didn’t feel like playing anymore had joined us at the table at the same moment. He whined a bit when our witch engulfed him in a hug but I know he’s putting up a show and he really loves the attention from her. “What’s this for, Grandma?” he asked, nodding toward my wrist. “It’s not... dinner time yet,” he added with a careful tone of voice as if he regretted mentioning meals.  
She leant into him and whispered something that visibly reassured him. She probably told him she was going to cook—don’t tell anyone but it suits me too!  
“It’s something I have to do,” I said.  
I saw understanding dawn on our witch’s face and she smiled at me.  
“Did you want to come along, dear?” I asked her.  
Her expression changed to something I could qualify as a “heartburn face,” which I found a little disconcerting, but Alan chose that moment to exclaim: “Come along where? Can I go too?”  
He darted a look toward her and I suspect that she kicked him under the table, thinking I couldn’t see her. They all think I’m blind but I see everything.  
The comms unit on the table bleeped. While I noticed it was my colour on there and knew it was Mike (you might know him as the Mechanic) and was going to wait before answering, my son just pressed the button out of habit and his hologram popped out. Mike was clearly not expecting to have an audience and it showed on his face.  
“Hey, Mike,” both Alan and John’s wife exclaimed at the same time; Kayo smiled and gave him a little wave.  
“Erm, hello.” He looked at me. “I can call back later...”  
Our viewing session is actually recorded. The show isn’t actually at 2 o’clock but it's usually a quiet time in the household and we use the video on demand service to watch—that way we can skip the ads. We debate on a lot of things during our watch sessions but we both agree that we can’t stand to watch it live.  
“Oh, no! It’s your time, Grandma, don’t let us hold you back,” our witch said.  
“We can stay and chat a bit now that we’re here, can’t we, Mike?” I asked, feeling that it was impolite to just leave at this point.  
“I suppose we can...” he sounded about as enthusiastic as when he tried to peel off that charcoal facial mask I had him try for his T-zone.   
“I’m almost certain I will regret asking, but how did this all begin anyway?” John’s wife motioned between the holoprojector and me.  
Mike rolled his eyes and sighed. “Might as well get this over with...” he muttered.  
Everyone around the table, including Kayo, gathered around closer to listen in. I’m not sure why people think it’s extraordinary that I’ve welcomed Mike to the household. He was on the island for months while they prepared the Zero-XL so it’s only natural that I tried to bring him out of his shell.  
“It all started when Mike was working on the T-Drive, and just like the rest of you, he has a habit of not stopping to rest and can be stubborn—”  
“We were on a tight schedule and I wanted the drive to work. I had an idea about optimizing the fuel intakes and I wanted to try it right away,” he cut me off.   
As if he realized that the reason for the tight schedule was right there at the table, he stopped, looking a little sheepish. Mike really fits in with the rest of them. Doesn’t know when to stop and too modest for his own good. No wonder I took him under my wing so naturally.  
“So you went in after dinner, when you were supposed to be resting, and you didn’t have your protective boots on,” I provided.  
“Oooh, I remember that!” Alan exclaimed, right before he scrunched his face at the memory. “Ohhh, yeah.”  
“That bad?” our witch asked.  
“I would have been fine, but apparently a little cut warranted ‘calling Grandma,’” he explained, air quoting the last part and sounding annoyed, but I could see the twinkle in his eye. He’s a good kid.  
I ignored him and replied to her: “I’m telling you, dear, just like the others. Saying it’s nothing when he’s leaving a trail like Little Thumbling.” She made a face because she’s not quite at ease with blood and needles—quite ironic considering the family she married into if you ask me—so I moved on quickly. “I bandaged him up and had him settle down in the lounge with a snack so that he could rest and I could keep an eye on him.”  
“I was forced to watch… dreadful things. And I couldn’t walk away.”  
Mike had his “harsh and scary” face on but I know him by now and he was actually becoming more at ease as the conversation went. I couldn’t help rolling my eyes at him.  
“Sure, we had to do a few adjustments at first, but don’t deny it young man, when I picked a series about boxing, you were hooked.”  
“Boxing?” Alan’s expression was as doubtful as his tone of voice.  
“What? Why are you making that face?” I asked  
“Well you’re a grandma... don’t grandmas watch more whimsical shows like Walnut Grove or that singing academy one?”  
“Clef-Hangers isn’t whimsical, it’s brain-numbing and unrealistic.”  
I didn’t know where to direct my scolding gaze between Mike, who dared to criticize Clef-Hangers, or my own treacherous son, who thought he was really smart by hiding his scoff with a cough. I am so misunderstood in this household sometimes.  
Jeff calmed down rather quickly as he seemed to realize something. “Wait… Boxing? The Big and the Boisterous is still running after all these years?” He seemed baffled. “Last time I saw it, before I was lost in the Oort cloud, Magdelena was pretending to be a rich investor so that Carlos noticed her and invited her to the gym.”  
“Oh no, things have progressed a lot. They are married now and have five children. Her habit of buying expensive clothes and shoes to look like an investor turned into a shopping addiction though,” I said.  
“Three. The two youngest ones aren’t his,” Mike growled.  
“Well she was bearing the youngest for her best friend who couldn’t have children but by some miracle she became pregnant by Carlos, so Magdelena decided to keep the baby. Carlos thinks the baby is his, however there was a fertility clinic involved, so we don’t know who the father actually is,” I felt I had to explain to the others.  
“Magdelena doesn’t know her friend’s baby is Carlos’.”  
“No. Charles is waiting for his moment to drop this titbit of information.”  
It’s so easy to fall back in our discussion and speculations—healthy debating—but at this point, I could see Alan’s eyes were glazing over and John’s wife was frowning and mouthing something to herself. It’s not that complicated... youngsters these days, no attention span whatsoever.  
“But... wasn’t Charles harbouring his secret the last time I, um, was there? That was months ago,” she said.  
The dear girl was sensible and didn’t mention any beauty treatments that could have ruffled Mike’s feathers. “Careful planning takes time. They follow a realistic timeline,” I explained.  
A non-committal sound came out of her mouth and Jeff choked on his coffee. How dare! Sometimes, he’s as bad as his sons. I continued my story: “Anyway, after having to stay put for a couple of days, Mike couldn’t miss an episode anymore and began pretending to be busy close by when I was watching—”  
“I did not!” he spluttered.  
“And we ended up setting a time and began watching regularly. There’s really nothing much to it. It was our quiet time from you rowdy lot and we just continued it when Mike moved off the island.”  
“The whole situation is kind of whimsical if you think about it,” John’s wife commented, earning a smile from Kayo and a nod from Alan.  
I don’t think Mike ever was called whimsical in his life. And from the look on his face, he was thinking the exact same thing.  
“I’m half tempted to watch now... I mean if Mike likes it...” Alan commented.  
“You can jump in at any time, honey, Mike and I will quickly put you up to date. A big boxing championship is coming up and it will be exciting. However, we still don’t know if Carlos will recover from his drinking phase, today could be revelation time,” I mentioned.  
“It’s not a drinking phase!"  
" He was poisoned!”   
Both Mike and Kayo protested at the same time, then stopped and looked at each other, startled.  
The table grew silent at the revelation.  
“You watch the Big and the Boisterous too?” Alan asked, his expression a mix of curiosity and glee at the thought of obtaining some precious blackmail info from this discussion.  
“... not all the time. I... I study the fight scenes,” she huffed and sat there, sulking, her face slightly darker than usual.  
John’s wife raised her eyebrows. “Why? In case you need to throw birthday cake at your opponents? Unless you find one of Carlos’ sons cute...”  
Kayo gasped indignantly. “I do not!”  
Both girls elbowed each other, calling each other names, but they were also trying to hold back laughter so I didn’t worry about it. They have their own language by now and they keep the boys on their toes each time they team up.  
I couldn’t help to take a moment to wonder which of Carlos’ sons could have caught my adoptive granddaughter’s fancy, however. I’m still not sure.  
Jeff must have decided that both my viewing partner and Kayo had suffered enough because he hugged me, kissed my temple and said: “Well, go ahead, Ma, go have your moment and find out what’s happening at the gym. We’ll keep busy.”  
“Call me when you are ready,” Mike said, before saying goodbye to everyone and giving Jeff a respectful nod and a “Sir.”  
I don’t think he’ll ever be able to call my son by his name, or me by my own for that matter. And I have tried. I’d even accept “Grandma” now. But he won’t call me that anymore. He said it wouldn’t be respectful after what he did to us in the past.  
I haven’t given up yet. Must be my whimsical side.  
I stood from the picnic table to retreat to my room, but only managed to make it halfway to the kitchen when I heard a commotion coming from the pool area.  
I told you, I should have known better.  
Sure enough, when I turned around, I saw my eldest grandson out of the pool clutching his foot. John’s wife sprung out of her seat with impressive speed, yelling “Oh for crying out loud! I have my back turned for two seconds and you manage to injure yourself, you big doofus!”  
She stormed past me, grumbling: “I’ll get the first-aid kit...”

I guess Carlos’ drinking situation would have to wait yet a little more.


	15. Day 15

Day 15 of isolation on Tracy Island 2.0

“Oh my gods do I even want to know?” I yelled. I had walked innocently into the kitchen, as you do. You know it’s early-ish...okay it’s not the early but it's early enough in that I just woke up and haven't had my first cup of coffee yet. To me that’s as early as it gets, my day starts when I wake up and counts down from there.

So, I walked into the kitchen where Virgil had told me he’d left me what he was calling a coconut mocha. I think he’d made it with coconut milk and he’d chopped up one of my bounty bars to sprinkle on top. I don’t honestly know but I was there for it.

“What the heck are you doing?” I continued to yell when no one stopped what they were doing, let alone answered me.

Alan was lying flat out on the table top, I mean, I’d seen worse to be honest, that boy sleeps in some strange places, but he wasn’t sleeping, oh no. That would be too simple. He was lying back with his mouth open and as I watched Gordon shook some cereal into his mouth.

“Gordon, what are you-” I started, pausing in total disbelief when he followed the cereal up by pouring milk in.

“CHEW! CHEW! CHEW! CHEW! CHEW!” he yelled, dancing around excited like a demented goblin.

Alan spluttered and choked a couple of times but he kept on chewing like his life depended on it, which it probably did, since he’d neglected to sit up.

“If he dies I’m telling Scott it was your fault,” I warned Grodon.

“Fair enough,” he shrugged, not in the least concerned as he turned to look at me. It was then that I saw the front of his shirt was soaked with milk. I raised an eyebrow at him, he grinned in return. 

“I give up with you both. Why are you doing this anyway?”

“All the bowls are in the dishwasher.”

I didn’t even reply to that, they are lazy little sods and I’d given up on them.

“I've given up on you,” I told them again, retrieving my coffee and snagging a couple of cereal bars to take with me, because today I was doing that thing with John again. 

No! Get your minds out of the gutter! I meant forcing him to video call with my Mum again.

He hates it, she’s useless, she doesn’t move the camera so we are either looking at her chin and up her nose or the top of her head. She also has a habit of talking over you and interrupting after she’s asked you a question and you’re answering. John despairs and just sits there quietly looking cute while we chat. 

***

“I swear I am so sick of walking into a room and finding you two doing something weird!”

“You get used to it,” John sighed, his eyes taking in the sight before him. 

Both Alan and Gordon had something that looked like it had been cut from a wig, I made a mental note to check my clip in hair streaks, I recognised that colour of red, and it was currently being glued to their chins.

“This isn’t working,” Gordon complained after trying unsuccessfully to stick it on for the third time.

“I’m giving up, it’s making my chin itch,” Alan sighed, scrubbing at his chin with a wet cloth. 

“What are you doing?” John asked in that tone that tells you that he’s absolutely done with your crap and wishes he was anywhere but there. Honestly he’d been like that for an hour already, I’d even gone so far as to sneakily lock the window in case he tried to escape my mum by diving out of it. 

“Nothing much,” Gordon answered in a too casual tone that neither of us believed. 

“Hey,” Alan said, seeing me standing there. “Can we borrow your makeup?”

“Erm...sure?”

“Cool,” Alan shot off to fetch it, for what purpose I couldn’t hazard a guess.

“Need a hand with anything?” I asked when he got back, practically dragging my big makeup box. It’s not that I use a lot, I just seem to accumulate that stuff, like odd socks and hair bands, it just appears in the box and I have no recollection of ever purchasing it. I told John that it’s magic appearing makeup and that it must be the makeup fairy but for some reason he wasn’t inclined to believe me.

“Nah, we’re good,” Gordon assured me.

“You’re not gonna do anything weird with it, are you?” I asked, suddenly rather worried about my eyeliner babies. I needed those to look human.

"No," Alan said in that long, drawn out way teenagers had that told you you were being ridiculous to even suggest it. How dare I be concerned about my own things? 

"Fine, but you had better not wreck anything," I warned them. "Or you're buying replacements."

"Sure, sure, whatever," Gordon shooed us away with a wave of his hand. 

"Come on, let's leave them to it," John suggested. "I'll make lunch."

"Now that's an offer I'd be mad to refuse," I answered, following him. We didn't get a lot of time alone to chill, so a nice, quiet lunch (that I don't have to make!) would be most welcome. 

"Witchy!" Alan yelled from the lounge less than twenty minutes later. I put down the toasted sandwich I was eating with a sigh. 

"Yeah?" I called up the stairs. 

"Can you help us?" 

I looked at John with a raised eyebrow, he shrugged in return. 

Sighing deeply I grabbed my plate, dropped a kiss on his nose and climbed back up the stairs. 

"What fresh hell is this?" 

A mess greeted me, a scattered mess of makeup, discarded cloths and bits of chopped up hair which they had obviously both given up on. They looked at me so pathetically that I knew I'd help them. I knew it, they knew it, I was done for. 

"Fine," I sighed, biting into my sandwich. "What do I need to do?" 

***

"OK, almost set," I told them as I arranged Gordon's phone on a tripod, ready to record. "You two ready?" 

Two hands giving the thumbs up poked up from the darkness of the stage they had constructed from a couple of chairs, old black parachute material and a couple of remote controlled flashing beacon lights and a stand rigged up for the ball. 

"Alright, starting to record…now," I hit record and then switched on the music, the familiar beat starting to echo out around the lounge. 

Their heads popped up and they bopped to the beat, keeping time. Perfectly on cue Gordon began to mime along while Alan pulled funny faces in time to the music. 

I tried very hard not to giggle or stare too hard at their eyes, because that would most definitely set me off and I didn't want to distract them. After they had told me they wanted to make a music video I'd been sceptical, I must admit but they were doing amazingly well. 

I awaited my cue and then started flicking the beacons on and off, having set them to different colours. They were perfect as disco lights, but the finishing touch was definitely the miniature disco ball they had found from parts unknown which I lowered by pushing down on the arm of the stand. 

I clicked off the recorder when the song ended and left them to their editing with a promise of rounding up their family to watch the premier later that night. 

***

"What are we supposed to be watching?" Scott asked. 

"No clue," Virgil shrugged. "She just said the boys had a project." 

"She wasn't broken when she came back," John added helpfully. 

"It could be anything," Grandma sighed. 

"Let's try to have faith in them, shall we?" Jeff told them. "Whatever it is I'm sure they worked hard."

The lights dimmed and the holoprojector lit up as Alan, Gordon and I slid into the room like heroes. I stepped aside so the boys could bow in greeting. 

There was silence for the first few seconds as they watched the screen, unsure what the hell was going on, and then there was laughter, lots and lots of laughter… 

  
  


Link to their Music Video : <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k5HEQCh5h50>


	16. Day 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suspect the formatting is out on this, Ao3 is evil for formatting.
> 
> I came, I tried...I gave up.

Day 16 of Isolation on Tracy Island 2.0

I went into lecture mode today and for good reason. Those little sods that John calls his brothers are evil I tell you, pure evil, more evil than they claim me to be.

“What are you watching?” I asked. I’d just had a nice, relaxing bath and wandered into the lounge in search of some company and attention and maybe a cuddle or two with anyone that was available. But no, they were all camped out in the lounge, watching a movie and ignoring me.

I did my usual, which was grab snacks and drop down in the middle of one of the Tracy piles and get comfy. Virgil obligingly lifted an arm for me to cozy up under and Alan stuck his hand in my pringles tub.

“What are we watching?” I asked again.

“Tangled,” Gordon answered. “It’s just started so you haven't missed much.”

“Isn’t that an old Disney movie?” I asked, wracking my brains to remember which one, because there had been millions, but in general we were all in agreement that the older ones were by far the best.

“Yeah, the one with the hair.” Ahh, yeah, that rang a bell somewhere in my brain. 

“You mean Rupunzel?” I thought back and the mists of time cleared, yep, I remembered it now. I'd watched it a few times when I was younger, it had been a favourite of a friend's sister and was always on when I visited. I hadn't thought about it in years. 

“Tangled,” Alan corrected me, like that really made a difference.

I shrugged and settled down again to watch, it would be nice to revisit some old memories. 

“She just stole that child!” Alan yelled a few minutes later.

“What do you expect?” Gordon said. “She’s gotta be a wicked witch, that’s what witches do.”

I raised an eyebrow at this but said nothing, it was hardly their fault that this was how the media had been portraying witches for hundreds of years. Something goes wrong and poof, there’s a witch, let’s blame her.

“You can tell she’s really evil because she’s so pretty,” Scott said, munching on a small stack of MY pringles that Alan had sneakily passed him because I’d banned Scott from eating any more.

“So it’s the pretty ones?” I asked, a slight warning tone in my voice that apparently none of them noticed. I could understand that this might be how they were brought up but surely they didn’t really think that, did they?

“Yep.”

“It’s always like that, Maleficent was pretty, so was the Evil Queen and the Enchantress in Beauty and the Beast. It’s the pretty ones that are the most dangerous, because they don’t look evil.”

“So, by this logic all witches are evil?”

“Well, duh, they’re the bad guys,” Alan drawled.

“Good to know,” I snapped, dragging myself up from the couch.

“Where are you going?” Virgil asked when I ducked out from under his arm. “Don’t you want to watch with us?”

“No.”

They all looked at me, quite confused.

“I have no real desire to sit here and be insulted, thank you.”

“Insulted? No one insulted you,” Scott said, clearly bemused by my statement, but wasn’t that just the way of it? I didn’t bother replying, just turned away and headed for the door, dodging past John who was coming up the stairs as I started down them.

“Hi, did you forget something?” he asked.

I shook my head and carried on down the stairs.

“Aren’t you staying for the movie?” he called after me.

I didn’t answer, honestly I was too annoyed. What I needed was a long walk to clear my head. I’ll let John continue the story.

***

I’m used to being ignored, but never by my own wife unless I had done something to annoy her, and in this instance I was pretty certain that I was in the clear. That left only one culprit, actually, make that five culprits.

“What did you guys say to her?” I asked as soon as I entered the lounge.

“Nothing,” they all chorused, all looking so perfectly innocent.

“Really?” I didn’t believe them for a second.

“Really,” Virgil assured me. Him I was inclined to believe so I tried another tactic.

“Talk me through what happened?” I sighed, setting down my coffee and taking a seat, giving them my best ‘don’t lie to me’ look.

“Honestly, we didn’t do anything,” Scott said. “We were watching the movie, she came to join us and asked about the movie so we told her.”

“What movie is it?” I asked, glancing at the screen but not recognising it.

“Tangled,” Alan supplied.

“So you only talked to her about Tangled?” 

“Yeah, that and a couple of other movies,” Gordon shrugged. “She was fine.”

“She didn’t look fine just now,” I argued. “Did she say anything before she left that might give me a clue? Because I’m kinda flying blind here.”

“Nothing,” Alan said. “Only something ridiculous about not wanting to sit here and be insulted.”

“You insulted her?” I sighed. “What the hell? I left you alone for precisely 4.36 minutes and you managed to insult her so much that she stormed off? What did you say to her?”

“Nothing!” Scott insisted.

I turned to Virgil for help.

“They were talking about how that lady,” he paused and pointed at the screen.

“Mother Gothel,” Gordon supplied.

“Thank you. How Mother Gothel," he continued," must be a witch because she stole the child and is pretty.”

Ah, that made a little more sense, well, some of it, part of it was still confusing the hell out of me and that doesn’t happen that often. I am not easily confused. “Because she was pretty?” 

“Yeah, like we told her, all of the pretty ones are the really wicked witches, you can always tell.”

I dropped my head into my hands, unable to believe just how insensitive and dumb they could be sometimes. I knew that they loved her as one of our own and wouldn’t insult her on purpose, but if they actually used their brains occasionally they would be dangerous. 

“So, let me get this straight,” I started. “You told my wife, my decidedly not ugly wife, who happens to be a witch, that witches are always evil, especially the good looking ones?”

“No, we-” Scott paused as it sank in. “Oh, God.”

“Yes,” I agreed. 

“We didn’t mean it about her!” Gordon protested.

“We wouldn’t think that,” Alan agreed.

“My wife, who is here to help us all, giving up her free time when she could be relaxing in her own home, where I could be with her I might add,” I looked at them pointedly. “The wife, who is nothing but nice and loving to you, you insulted her.”

“Not on purpose.”

“I didn’t,” Virgil said, lifting an arm. “I was her pillow.”

“You are excused,” I nodded. “The rest of you will wait until I’ve found her and then you will make it up to her.”

I got up, still shaking my head at just how insensitive they had been and went to find her.

***

It was Kayo that tracked me down first, well, kinda. I was walking one way along the beach and she was running the other, we kinda just met up in the middle.

“S’up?” she asked, pausing in her jogging. Me, I was slow walking, meandering, like a snail with luggage. I’d started off power walking under the power of pure annoyance but now that had faded to be replaced by hurt feelings and with it had vanished my motivation for anything exercise based.

“Nothing much,” I answered.

“I thought you’d be in there with the others," she said."They wanted to watch some disney cartoon so I thought I’d get some training in, this enforced down time can be terrible for the fitness levels.”

I made a noise that could be agreement but was also pretty non-committal, I knew that giving her too much encouragement would have her trying to make me train with her again. Once was enough, I almost died.

“You’re not normally this quiet, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, I’m just a bit annoyed, that’s all,” I said, brushing away her concern.

“What did they do this time?”

“Nothing.”

“Rubbish, I don’t believe you, plus I know they are idiots, so…”

“They were just a bit insensitive, that’s all…”

“And?”

“And insulting.”

She raised an eyebrow at that. “And what are you going to do about it?”

I waved a hand, gesturing to the beach. “I’m walking it off.”

“No, you’re going to go back in there and give them hell. Don’t let them get away with it. They won’t know what they have done wrong unless you tell them, and if they don’t get it after that you smack them until it sinks in.”

I bit my lip so I wouldn’t laugh, having a mental image of her sitting on Gordon to hold him down while I slapped at him.

“That idea has merit,” I conceded.

“Of course it does,” she continued to jog on the spot. “Are you coming back now or are you going to walk a bit longer? You could join me if you want?”

“Nah, I’m good thanks,” I flopped down on the sand. “I’m just going to sit here for a bit and watch the water.”

“Your loss,” she shrugged. “But remember what I said, make them listen, make them understand, whatever it takes.”

“Violence isn’t the answer to everything, Kay,” John said, appearing from a nearby path, his comm in his hand, obviously locating me with sneaky methods.

“Maybe not for you,” she tossed over her shoulder as she broke out into a run again, not bothering to say goodbye.

“You OK?” he asked, sitting down beside me.

“Yep, why does everyone keep asking me that? Can’t a wit- girl get some air without everyone launching an inquiry?” I said, correcting myself before I finished the W-word.

“A witch,” he said pointedly, “can do whatever she wants, but her husband has the right to be concerned when he finds out that his dumbass brothers have insulted her.”

I shrugged, not wanting to drag it all up again.

“They’re sorry,” he said, draping his arm around my shoulders to pull me into his side. “They didn’t mean it, they just weren’t thinking.”

“I know they didn’t mean it, well, not about me personally,” I sighed. “But that’s just how it is. Witches always get the bad rap. They wouldn't understand.”

“Then tell them, explain it to them.”

“Do you have any puppets?” I joked, leaning my head against his shoulder. “Because they might need it simplifying a bit, they are quite dumb.”

“No puppets I’m afraid, but I do have brothers that are very sorry and want you to come back so they can apologise.”

“Virgil is innocent.”

“Yeah, he said as much.” He dropped a kiss on the top of my head and stood up, offering me his hand. “Come on.”

I stared at his hand for a few moments, both trying to decide if I felt up for explaining and just because I liked to look at his hands. Finally I reached out and took it, letting him pull me to my feet.

***

“We are so sorry!” Scott said the second we entered the lounge. Kayo was already seated in a chair and was watching with the kind of interest someone would use while observing animals in a zoo. I'm surprised she didn't have popcorn. 

"Yeah, we didn't mean it, not about you, you're great," Alan added. 

"We'd never think you were evil," Gordon promised. 

"No, but you'd think it about others," I answered, not wanting to let them off too easily. I'd promised John and Kayo that I'd explain it to them and explain I would. 

"We live in a multicultural world," I began. "And the world has changed so much in the last hundred or so years. Now racism and intolerance is frowned upon and people are understanding that everyone is equal and valid regardless of race or religion, right?"

They all nodded, John included, although I don't honestly know why since he hadn't done anything wrong. 

"And if someone was to assume that a person was bad based on their religion that would count as intolerant?"

They nodded again. 

"It shouldn't matter what colour, race, culture or religion someone is, they should all be treated with respect, right?" 

"Obviously, we never discriminate, we'll save anyone that needs it, we don't pick and choose. Every life is valid," Scott said.

"Yet my religion is different?" 

"Of course not!"

"Then why is it that we're the ones that are always picked on? My religion is one of the oldest in the world, we date back before Buddhism, Judaism, Christianity, Hinduism, Islam, pretty much any religion you can think of. But we've had thousands of years of persecution and intolerance, including being portrayed as the bad guy in almost every single fairy tale out there."

"We know you're not evil," Alan promised me. 

"I know you do, because you know me. But that doesn't change the fact that in modern media we are still used as a cheap, easy and believable villain. But does anyone ever think of it from the witches point of view?" 

They shook their heads, probably because they were now looking a little scared of me. 

"Let me tell you another version of this story," I said, gesturing to the movie that was paused on the holoprojector. 

John patted the seat between him and Virgil (who hadn't done anything wrong and was therefore safe to sit with) and I dropped down with a sigh. 

"Where to begin," I pondered out loud. "I'm not going to introduce anyone, I'm just going to dive straight in." I settled down, getting into storytelling mode. 

_ The wicked witch sat in her garden looking out over the rows of flower beds and her beloved vegetable patches that she was so proud of and sighed, a long, deep and very sad sigh. _

_ She was getting on in years and was feeling lonelier with each passing day. Not that she would ever admit that to anyone, especially not the other witches round the cauldron. They were wicked witches and were expected to shun human emotions and feelings and just get on with their work, creating chaos, cursing newborn children and all the other things that take up your day.  _

_ A small noise pulled her from her thoughts. She looked up, squinting in an effort to focus, her eyesight not what it used to be. She saw a man trying, not very stealthily, to climb over her garden wall. She stayed where she was, almost hidden from view and watched him, curious as to what he was planning. _

_ He dropped to the floor with a grunt and a muffled curse. She tried not to giggle, it was so unwitch like, witches did not giggle, they cackled evilly as was expected of them. She watched the man as he looked around and slowly snuck his way towards her Rapunzel plants. She lifted one eyebrow at his daring. So that was where they were disappearing to, and to think she had blamed the slugs. _

_ As she watched he bent to pick some of the tasty leaves and stuffed them into a sack he was carrying. Well this wouldn’t do, she was a wicked witch for pity’s sake, if word got out that it was OK for the villagers to enter her garden willy nilly and steal her greens she'd never live it down. It took a lot of work to cultivate the fear that was needed to get even the slightest bit of respect and she wasn't about to let all her hard work go to waste.  _

_ She slowly stood up, ignoring the protest of her aching bones and raised her wand, casting a powerful binding spell at him. The man instantly froze and dropped to the ground, groaning, his limbs locked together. Taking her time the witch made her way over to the man. _

_ “What do you think you are doing, creeping into my garden and stealing my vegetables,” she demanded to know, scowling at him, putting on her best scary witch face. _

_ The man looked terrified, as well he should, his eyes bulging out of his head.  _

_ “Please, don’t hurt me," he begged. “I meant no harm. It's my wife, she is expecting our first child and was desperate for some of your Rapunzel. She's been unwell and cannot stomach anything else, her cravings are something else. She threw a bowl at my head yesterday because I didn't get her any." Come to think of it, he did look a little weary.  _

_ The witch’s brain kicked into gear. Maybe this was a way of still being wicked but getting what she wanted too. She'd done her best, she'd tried being nice, but as usual no one had listened to her when she had given them her dire warnings of crop blight and mad cow disease and when her predictions had inevitably come to pass, she'd been blamed for that too. Good guys never prospered when the world had already made up its mind about you. _

_ With a wave of her wand she lifted her spell, allowing the binding to drop away, releasing the man. When she spoke she made sure her face was as pleasant as possible, her voice sickly sweet. _

_ “Is that so? Well that is completely different. If you need it for your wife, then of course you may take as much as you want. Help yourself,” she smiled gently , showing a number of her broken teeth, looking as innocent and old ladylike as possible. “I only ask for one thing in return.” _

_ The man, looking very relieved, scrambled to his feet, his cap in his hands. “Of course, anything, I will do anything you wish of me, just name it and it shall be done, it shall be yours.” _

_ The witch continued to smile as she dropped her bombshell, already picturing his reaction. That was the problem with the people of the world, they thought they could take whatever they wanted, preying on the good nature of others while never offering a thing in return unless they had no choice.  _

_ “Oh, it’s only a little thing. In exchange for the Rapunzel that your wife needs to get through her pregnancy, you will give me the baby when it is born.” She stood back and watched with pleasure as his face drained of all colour and his mouth dropped open. _

_ “I … no…I can't…you can’t,” he shook his head in denial. _

_ “Oh, but I can, ” the witch replied. “You said you would do anything. The deal is made.” She used her powers to pick him up and drop him back over the garden wall. _

_ The witch smiled, pleased with herself. Now that was truly wicked. _

_ Months passed and soon the witch heard the distant sound of a baby crying from the neighbouring house. Impatient to see her new child she jumped on her broom and flew straight over. _

_ Banging on the door she took immense pleasure from the look of horror on his face as well as his wife's. _

_ Barging her way past him she scooped up the baby in her arms, cradling it carefully. _

_ “I have come for what is rightfully mine. I hope you enjoyed your Rapunzel,” she told them, not giving them a chance to argue with her.  _

_ Cackling evilly to keep up appearances, she hopped back on her broom and flew off with the child. _

_ Years passed and the child, a little girl, whom the witch named Rapunzel after the plant that had caused all the trouble, grew into a beautiful young lady.  _

_ The witch loved her like a daughter but knew that Rapunzel had never felt the same way about her. Being a wicked witch was not all it was cracked up to be, being mean all the time and doing evil deeds was draining, leaving her grumpy by the end of the day when she returned home to their little cottage.  _

_ Having wicked friends who hated Rapunzel didn't help matters much either. They couldn't understand why the witch had wanted her, why she had wanted a child at all. Children were a nuisance, a bargaining chip to use against Kings and Queens or local villages, not for keeping like a pet. Stick with the cat, her friends had said, or a nice toad, that was the way to go.  _

_ Unfortunately that meant that Rapunzel had to look after herself for the majority of the day. She spent a lot of her time daydreaming, reading story books about handsome princes who would whisk the princess away from the evil witch. The witch, who blamed herself for signing her up for the local library and allowing her a weekly visit into town, had begun to worry that the day would come that she would lose her. _

_ Scared, she decided the time had come for more drastic measures. The witch created a tower which had no stairs and only one room, high up at the top with just one window. She flew Rapunzel up on her broom and left her there. _

_ Every day the witch would visit her, calling up to the top of the tower, where the girl sat waiting. _

_ “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair, so I may climb without a stair.” She'd watch as Rapunzel wrapped her long braid around a hook on the window sill and let her hair drop to the ground. _

_ Catching hold of the end, the witch would begin to haul herself up the side of the tower. Sure she could have flown up but in her advancing years she needed any exercise she could get and she'd always had a fondness for mountain climbing.  _

_ Every time the witch visited Rapunzel she couldn't help but notice that the girl was getting sadder and sadder. Trying to help, the witch brought her little treats, like a kitten to keep her company, new books and lots of good things to eat that they could share.  _

_ After a few weeks she began to see a change in her. Rapunzel looked happier, even laughing at the witch's attempts at a joke. Pleased that her gifts had helped the witch always left content in the knowledge that the most important person in the world to her was happy.  _

_ One evening, a week or so into this new period of peace, saw the witch huffing and puffing her way up the side of the tower. Cursing all the sweet treats they had been eating that had caused her to put on a few too many pounds, the witch slowed to catch her breath, and heard Rapunzel muttering to herself. _

_ “Owww, damn it, the prince doesn’t hurt when he climbs up. _

_ The witch stopped dead and looked up, anger simmering through her blood. The Prince? There was a Prince now? Why was there always a Prince that came along to wreck the plans of hard working witches who just wanted to do their jobs and get home before the sun set? Was it too much to ask?  _

_ She started climbing again and hauled herself in through the open window, flopping in an undignified heap on the floor.  _

_ “What prince?” she demanded to know, getting to her feet and rounding on Rapunzel. _

_Rapunzel_ _ backed away, looking scared, something the witch hated to see.  _

_ “The prince that comes to see me, ” she answered a goofy smile breaking out on her face. “He’s very handsome and said that he loves me.” _

_ At her words the witch felt her heart break. Her fears had come true, she had lost her and to a Prince that no doubt seemed too good to be true but would inevitably hurt her girl.  _

_ Well, she wasn’t going to take this lying down, she would protect her daughter if it was the last thing she did, even if it hurt her to do so, it was for her own good. Sometimes you had to be cruel to be kind.  _

_ Blood boiling the witch threw herself at Rapunzel, grabbing a pair of scissors that was sitting next to Rapunzel's sewing work. _

_ “We shall see about that.” The witch held her down and cut off her long braid. “You will never see that prince again.” _

_ Still mad at the sheer cheek of the Prince and worried for her adopted daughter, the witch sat Rapunzel on her broom and took her to a lonely, desolate spot in a woods far away where a tiny cottage sat, with nothing but a cow and some chickens for company and left her there. _

_ She was determined to teach the Prince a lesson, she was a wicked witch after all and it wouldn't do to let it be known that a Prince had snuck around with her daughter right under her nose and she'd done nothing. The witch went straight back to the tower and lay in wait for the Prince, certain that he couldn't keep away and would come back. _

_ Soon enough she heard him calling out from the ground below. _

_ “Rapunzel, sweet beautiful Rapunzel, let down your hair, so I may climb without a stair.” _

_ Cackling silently to herself as she looped the cut off braid around the hook on the windowsill, the witch let the hair slide from her hands down the side of the tower, unwinding as it went.  _

_ She felt the prince beginning to climb up and waited, watching as his head eventually appeared in the window. Grabbing his shoulders before he could react and defend himself, she hauled him in through the open window. _

_ The prince looked at her in shock but still tried to reach for his sword. _

_ “Where is Rapunzel?” he demanded.  _

_ How dare he turn up to her tower, looking for her daughter and start throwing his weight around, making demands like he owned the place! The witch sneered at him, her lips twisting cruelly as she told him the truth. _

_ “She is gone, and you will never see her again.” _

_ "What did you do to her?" the Prince yelled, twisting out of her grip and succeeding in drawing his sword.  _

_ For the first time the witch feared for her life, she wasn't a young witch and she'd left her wand in her other robe. Acting on pure instinct, needing to protect herself, and with offence being the best offence, she threw herself at the Prince.  _

_ Catching him off guard, no one ever expected a flying witch, she planted her hands on his chest and with a great heave she shoved him away from her.  _

_ The prince stumbled towards the window and almost in slow motion he toppled backwards out of the tower.  _

_ Cursing the witch grabbed the windowsill and looked out, watching as he dropped like a stone to the ground, landing in a thorn bush.  _

_ The Prince let out a blood curdling scream as the sharp thorns pierced his eyes, blinding him. _

_ Ha! A wicked little voice piped up in her head, let him see her now, although she silenced it almost immediately.  _

_ She watched as the prince stumbled away, clutching his face but, instead of pleasure at her actions she felt only pain, knowing that now she really had lost the one she had thought of as her daughter.  _

_ "I have to make this right," she said to herself. All she had ever wanted was for Rapunzel to be happy and, from fear of losing her and wanting to protect her, the witch had only succeeded in driving her further away. _

_ Leaving the tower, the witch followed the prince, silently helping him, protecting him from harm, leading him towards Rapunzel. _

_ Years passed, with the witch growing weaker and weaker by the day, travelling all over was playing havoc with her arthritis, until eventually the prince found Rapunzel again.  _

_ She was living in miserable poverty, in her tiny cottage, scrounging for food in the woods. She was out in her garden, picking flowers when she happened to look up. Seeing the Prince wandering past, tapping his way along with a stick, a bandage over his eyes, she barely recognised him. He was filthy, his clothes almost rags and his hair unbrushed. But, when she did, her heart leapt with happiness.  _

_ She rushed over to the gate, calling his name. _

_ In a daze, the Prince turned his head in the direction of her voice, unable to believe his ears. He'd been living in darkness for so long he'd almost forgotten what it was like to feel joy.  _

_ “Rapunzel?” _

_ “Yes, my love, it's me!” she paused, seeing the bandages over his eyes up close. “What happened?”  _

_ Gently she reached for the bandage, dodging his hands when he tried to stop her, and tugged the scrap of cloth from his face, gasping with shock when she saw his eyes staring blankly up at her. _

_ The witch watched from behind a tree, still so deeply saddened that she had caused all this hurt simply because she was lonely and no one would give her a chance. From the moment she had been born as a witch her destiny had been decided for her. She hadn't wanted to be wicked, she just hadn't had a choice. It was expected of her.  _

_ As the witch watched Rapunzel began to cry, her tears dripping down her face onto his. Smiling to herself, an idea forming, the witch waved her wand, giving Rupunzel the power of healing. As her tears dripped into his eyes, he blinked, his broken and scarred eyes clearing, to stare straight at her. _

_ “I can see you,” he whispered, hardly able to believe it.  _

_ "Really, truly?"  _

_ He laughed, grabbing her tight. “Yes, I can really see you!” _

_ With one last look the witch blew her beloved child a kiss and hopped back on her broom. Soaring into the air she left them behind, dancing with joy at their good fortune, knowing they would live happily ever after. _

"The end," I said, finishing up my story. "What did you think?" 

"It was certainly different to any that I've ever heard," Virgil said when I was done. 

"That's the point of the story," I said, wanting to hammer it home. "No one is born bad. Sometimes it's a vicious cycle, you know? People assume the worst of someone and they get judged, purely on who or what they are."

They nodded, having seen that at work before. 

"There is good and bad in all walks of life, in all countries and regions, it's not exclusive to one type of person. People get judged not on their actions as an individual, but on the actions of others, on falsehoods and stories spread about them," I continued. 

Seeing them all watching me and listening was a little hard. I loved them all, but they were used to me being my laughing, joking, happy self and in this I couldn't smile, I couldn't hide it inside and let it go. 

"When people assume the worst and make accusations it's only a matter of time before they get so fed up that they often end up doing the very things they have been accused of because they're just going to get blamed anyway. They will get treated like they are bad even if they aren't, so why keep fighting?"

I allowed John to take my hand, grateful for the comforting, supportive squeeze he gave it. 

"I know that you guys didn't mean anything you said in a negative way, I know you weren't directing it at me or even thinking of me that way. I know this is real life and not a movie, but the point is still the same. It's not your faults, because this is how you have been conditioned from years of movies that portray things like that. It's not just a silly movie it's history, it's happened with countless races and religions for hundreds of years, for as long as there has been books and propaganda and storytelling. There is always a bad guy."

I took a deep breath."Here's the thing, we have a duty, each and every one of us, to pay attention to the people around us, to think for ourselves and to judge people on their actions, on who they are not what they are. We all need to think before we speak, to consider who we might be hurting with our words and actions. In this you hurt me, because you didn't think, you just assumed and said what you've been taught to think. I know I probably took it way more seriously than I should have, but it hurt. And I can't apologise for my reaction." I shrugged, showing that I didn't have anything else left to say. 

"We really are sorry," Scott said, clearly feeling awful about what had happened. 

"Look, it's OK, I'm not blaming you, let's just forget it, alright? We'll watch the end of the movie and I'll stop being over sensitive," I said, just wanting it to be over. 

They all nodded gratefully and flicked the movie back on. I cuddled deeper into the couch between Virgil and John, wanting to relax. I'll probably make John finish the rest of today's entry too. 

***

"So she wasn't a witch after all?" Alan goggled, clearly unable to believe what they had seen. I wasn't surprised, he'd always been easily surprised and easily impressed, ever since he was a baby. He was the one excited about his own toes. 

"Nope, just a vain woman that used a bit of magic to her advantage and, rather than give it up, she opted to steal a child," the wife answered. She hauled upset up from the couch and stretched, her back cracking in a couple of places and I made a mental note to see if she wanted a back rub later, she deserved it after the day she'd had. "I'm gonna make a start on dinner."

My brothers are indeed idiots, but I could see that they were feeling terrible about their actions. It hadn't been malicious, it had just been thoughtless. In that she had been right, they should have thought more about who was there and what they were saying, just as they did in the field. 

Scott was the first to get up, catching her as she walked past, dragging her into a hug that the other two quickly joined in on, squashing her in the middle. 

"Can't…breathe," she whined but they ignored her, hugging her tighter. 

"We love you," Alan said from his spot squashed somewhere near Scott's left armpit. I wouldn't want to be there but if anyone deserved it right now it was him. 

"I love you numpties too."

"Forgive us? We promise we'll never assume anything ever again," Gordon promised. 

"I'll go out and get Chinese for dinner," Scott added to sweeten the pot and this time she actually laughed. 

"Deal."

"You gave in too easily," Kayo accused as she left the room to go and get changed. "I'm disappointed in you."

"Well, unfortunately I love these idiots so I didn't have much of a choice."

"So you say," Kayo shot back, but I could hear the smile in her voice. 

Everyone wandered off and I reclaimed my wife, pulling her back down onto the couch beside me. 

Honestly I was kinda impressed with how calm she'd stayed. She'd made her point and made it well, without the need to yell or throw things, which was a vast improvement to most arguments in this house. 

They had needed to hear it, they had listened and hopefully they had learned a little something, I know I certainly did. 

Note to self: when she's next mad at you, get Chinese food. 

  
  



	17. Day 17

Day 17 of Isolation on Tracy Island.

“I’m coming! I’m coming!” I yelled as I ran up the stairs from the kitchen and then up again to the sleeping quarters where Grandma was screaming for my attention. I had no idea what was going on with her or why she sounded so worried but I was there to help. Well, I kinda had to be, since I was the only one about.

Virgil was on a supply run with Alan, Scott was in a virtual meeting with Jeff (which he was hating) John had gone ‘to the office’ and I had absolutely no idea where Gordon or Kayo were. Twas a mystery.

“Grandma?” I called. “Where are you?”

“In here,” she yelled back from the direction of...oh, crap. Gordon’s room.

“There’s nothing in there that will kill me, is there?” I asked as I rounded the corner. You could never be too careful, I’d heard tales of the near misses his brothers had had while trying to navigate the dangerous terrain to wake him up in the morning. That boy can sleep through almost any alarm.

As soon as I walked into the room I saw that something was wrong. I didn’t trip over anything and the usual piles of rubbish that littered the carpet like land mines ready to explode were notably absent. I took a tentative step over the threshold, pinching my nose in anticipation for the stench that had been known to flow from the room in waves after Gordon had been fishing and not put his clothes in the wash.

I stepped further into the room and let go of my nose, gingerly sniffing the air, just a few experimental intakes of breath, just the barest inhale, ready to clamp my nostrils shut to stop the assault to my senses the second I felt the need.

A sweet floral scent met my previously abused sinuses, making me sigh with surprised pleasure. I ducked my head back out into the hallway again, testing to make sure the smell was definitely coming from the inner sanctum.

“No, you’re not imagining it,” Grandma assured me.

I pulled my head back into the pit, or by the looks of it, the room formerly known as the pit. I took a few hesitant steps into the room, scanning every inch of the carpet, carpet that I was surprised to see was actually a rather nice blue colour, not the usual sea of abandoned clothing, books, magazines, toiletries and celery crunch wrappers I was used to seeing.

“This is very strange,” I mused. 

“It’s not right at all,” Grandma agreed. “In fact, it’s downright suspicious.”

“Why are you even in here? You know it’s dangerous, last time that pile of clothes fell and you were almost buried.”

“Almost? I’m just lucky that Scott heard me and dug me out.”

I nodded, although I knew she was being a tad over dramatic. It seemed to run in the family.

She was right though, it wasn’t right at all, but I wasn’t fooled completely. He had tried to trick us into thinking he had tidied his room before, especially when Scott nagged at him about it.

“Can you just check down there for me?”

I nodded and dropped to my hands and knees, peeking under the bed, expecting to be greeted by the entire contents of the room stuffed under it in the ultimate ‘out of sight, out of mind’. Nothing. I saw right through to the other side of the room.

“It’s clean,” I reported.

“Look in there,” Grandma ordered, pointing at the wardrobe from a safe distance just in case the contents decided to avalanche out at her.

I straightened up and shuffled my way over to the wardrobe and gripped the handles loosely, all the better to let go quickly, I was ready to leap backwards with what I hoped was the grace of a gazelle. I hoped to stay out of the path of the avalanche of laundry, empty crisp packets, leaking pens, shoes and hawaiian shirts that I was sure would come tumbling out to bury me under their combined mass. 

I pictured it leaving nothing but my arm poking out, waving weakly, leaving Grandma to get help from whomever might happen to be passing. Not that I actually expect to get said help, anyone who was even remotely sane in this house knew that if the door to the pit was open you should avert your eyes and pray you made the journey past with all of your senses intact.

I braced myself and flung open the doors, on guard. Nothing. The contents of the extremely tidy closet stayed in their designated place, looking orderly and smelling fresh. 

“What the hell?” I stepped back, a frown of puzzlement creasing my forehead, my eyes narrowed into suspicious slits, hands finding their way to my hips as I looked around the room. 

“Grandma, did you do this?”

“No! You know I won’t touch any of the boys rooms. I only came in because Gordon borrowed my trinket box.”

“Trinket box?”

“That wooden box on the bookshelf?”

“Oh! The found things box!” I nodded my understanding. The found things box had come about because Grandma was forever finding odd things in people's pockets, down the sides of the couches or dumped on various surfaces around the villa. She gathered them all up and popped them in the box so that everyone knew where to look if they had lost something small, that way they wouldn’t keep asking her if she had seen whatever they had misplaced. She’d just say “check the box, if it’s not in there then I haven’t seen it.”

“Did you find it?”

“Yes,” she pointed to the box on the (clean and polished) bedside table. 

“Anything missing?”

“Only my thimble, though I can’t imagine what he’d want with that.”

“Oh, he calls that the prick protector, he uses it whenever he’s making new fishing lures and hooks so he doesn’t impale his fingers,” I told her.

“I’d like to be suprised by that,” she started.

“But you're not because you know him,” I finished. She nodded. 

“Something’s definitely not right in here,” Grandma said again, clearly unable to let it go. 

The more I looked around, taking in the neatness that surrounded us, the more I began to feel the first signs of worry stirring inside my chest. 

“This is not like our Gordon,” I said. “I think we need to investigate further."

We left the room formerly known as the pit, the bedroom of doom, the black hole, and thumped our way down the hallway to the stairs.

“Gordon!” Gradman yelled at the top of my voice.

Honestly I wasn’t that surprised that we didn’t get an answer. 

“Are Jeff and Scott still busy?” I asked.

“I think so,” Grandma replied with a sigh. “I don’t know where I went wrong with him, the rest have always been so good, such neat and tidy boys.” 

I raised an eyebrow at this. I didn’t want to say that I didn’t believe her but…

“OK, they have always picked up after themselves with the bare minimum of prompting from myself or their father. Not like Gordon, he would just as soon sit in his mess than lift a finger to do anything about it, though if I bash into him hard enough with the vacuum he might be inclined to lift his feet out of the way as I clean around him.”

“That sounds more likely,” I agreed. “We need to go find him.”

The whole tidy bedroom thing upstairs was getting stranger and stranger by the minute. We glanced into the living room on our way to the kitchen to make a fortifying cup of coffee, and noticed that the sofa was all on its lonesome, no Squid lounging on it with his feet up on the coffee table. I walked over to the friendless couch and gave the cushions an experimental poke. To my shock, and slight worry, they plumped straight back up to their full height, they hadn’t been laid on all day like they usually were. Normally a crow bar and a crane would be the only things to remove Gordon from his preferred napping and holoprojector viewing spot when he had nothing to do, that or the word “food” shouted from the kitchen. That begged the question, what was he doing?

***

We were making our way back up to the bedrooms when we heard the whomp of doors opening somewhere in the villa, followed by a slam as they closed and the thump, thump, thump of Alan as he pitter-pattered his way down the hall towards us with the light footed elegance of a fairy elephant. 

“Do you know where Gordon is?” Grandma asked. A blank stare and the vague shaking of his head was the best answer she was going to get to her question and she nodded, dismissing him, not really having expected much more than that anyway. 

“Have you even seen him today?” I asked.

“Nope,” he moved past us and headed into his room, closing the food behind him.

“I think we need to ask the sane one,” I suggested. Going into Gordon’s room I touched the comm on his chest of drawers.

“If this is to ask me to put a dog filter on Scott’s face during his video call, the answer is no, again.”

“Well, I wasn’t planning on it but now you’re giving me ideas.”

“Oh, hi,” beloved hubby greeted me, “why are you calling from…” his eyes darted around, taking in the room around me. “Is that Gordon’s room?” The disbelief in his voice, I hadn’t heard that from him since the last time we’d stopped at the pet store so I could look at the fluffies and I had promised I wouldn’t fall in love with a hamster.

“Yeah, weird, huh?”

“I’ll say.”

“You got any clue where he is?”

“No, but give me one moment.” His head vanished from view as he checked his feeds. “Sorry, no, his comm tracker is turned off and Thunderbird Four is out of its dock and in dark mode.”

“Seriously?”

“I wouldn’t joke about that,” John assured me.

“Oh gods, where the hell is he? Do you think he’s OK?”

“I wish I knew,” Grandma answered, looking as worried as I felt.

I looked around again, looking for anything unusual but it was pretty near impossible, of course things were unusual, it was bloody tidy.

I sat down with a thump on the neatly made bed (the poor thing was probably in shock) and that's when I heard the crackling sound that appeared to come from my butt.

I jumped back up noticing the folded piece of paper for the first time where it nestled in the indent left on the sheets where my not insubstantial buttocks had just come in to land.

“Grandma!” I yelped, hardly daring to look. I held out the paper to her and she unfolded it with slightly shaking hands.

“Dear Grandma, “ she read aloud. “I have left home. I have run away to join Fishler Industries in their underwater department with my new girlfriend, Jodie. I met her online on a Buddy and Ellie fan page. She’s a little bit older than me, she’s thirty-four and was just released from prison six months ago. Don’t worry, it was only for burglary and a little assault, she never killed that man like everyone said she did. We are moving in together once we get the rats and the cockroaches out of the trailer she “borrowed” for us, creepy crawlies aren’t good for the baby. Oh, yes, that’s right, Jodie is pregnant, you’re going to be a great-grandmother. I’ll phone you when we get settled. Love Gordon.”

“He’s...what?” I stuttered. “John?”

John was looking as dazed and confused as we were.

Grandma held out the letter to me and I took it, reading the words again myself. 

“This doesn’t make any sense!”

“There’s writing on the back,” John called out. “Flip it over.”

I did as I was told, eyes quickly scanning the words, a mixture of relief and ‘I’m gonna kill him’ flooding through me.

“What does it say?” Grandma demanded to know.

“It says,” I started, reading aloud.”Ha ha, not really. But now I bet the fact that I borrowed Dad’s old hoverbike to race with Alan and accidentally backed it into your display stand of Big and the Boisterous trinkets doesn’t seem so bad now, does it? I’m checking on my reef babies, call me when it’s safe to come home.”


	18. Day 18

Day 18 of Isolation on Tracy Island 2.0 and I have been struck down in the prime of my life, struck down I tell you.

I woke up coughing, or more accurately, choking. I gasped and wheezed, trying to draw breath in between hacking coughs, scaring the crap out of John in the process.

All his training completely deserted him, having been jolted awake and faced with a hacking witch and he did his best, handing me water, smacking my back and yelling variations of “Are you OK? Are you dying? What’s wrong?” Not that any of that helped in the slightest, because I was concentrating more on trying to reassure him that I was fine than actually being fine, which led to more coughing.

My head was pounding, my throat felt like I’d been doing obscene things to a cactus and my nose was so stuffy I could barely breathe.

“Witch flu,” I croaked, flopping back down, dragging him with me to use as a pillow. “I feel like my head is going to explode.”

“Are you sure it’s just that?” he asked. “We are in the middle of a pandemic.”

“I’m aware, and yes it’s just a cold. I’ll be fine.”

“Stay there,” he ordered and extracted himself from my limpet like grasp, getting out of bed and dragging on his dressing gown. I sneezed in horror. How could he do this to me?

“Urghhh,” I groaned, closing my eyes. “I just told you I had a headache and you whip that thing out?” 

“Always complaining when I whip things out,” he muttered as he left the room. I chose to ignore him and rolled into his warm patch, wrapping myself up in the blankets like a caterpillar in its chrysalis. He’d better be back soon with love and affection, dammit. 

“Sit up,” John demanded, dragging me from my sleepy doze. I sat up, eyes still closed, knowing he’d still be wearing that...thing.

“Mouth open, tongue out.”

I risked opening one eye to look at him in disbelief, like dude, I can’t breath through my nose, let’s not make me suffocate. 

“For once don’t argue and do as you're told,” he sighed and I closed my eye again and opened my mouth.

Something touched my tongue and it was disgusting. Sour, nasty and just plain foul. I gagged dramatically just to make him feel really bad about what he’d just done to me.

“Ewww, why? You know I hate neat lemon,” I croaked accusingly. “I’m sick and you’re being mean and making it worse.”

“Have this instead,” he offered, shoving a piece of chocolate into my mouth in its place.

“That’s better,” I conceded, lying back against the pillows like a dying queen.

“You can still taste, congratulations,” he pulled back the covers and got back in, allowing me to squish against his side again. “Anything I can do to make you feel better?”

“Just make sure the rest of the family are nice to me.”

“I can do that,” he promised, picking up his tablet to work on while I napped some more. 

Three hours later and I felt a little more able to face the world, that and I was hungry. That always happens with me when I get the lurgy, I’m suddenly starving all the time. And I mean all the time. It’s like my body turns junk food into cold fighting fuel and it needs regular top ups, I’m never sated. This is not good for my post lockdown 1.0 diet, but needs must.

I collapsed on the couch, wrapped in John’s favorite fluffy blanket that always came out on late night stargazing trips, and curled up with a breakfast muffin, a cup of Gordon’s chamomile tea and Alan, because that boy is really warm and I’m really cold.

The boys were actually very nice to me today, I don’t know if John threatened them to make good on his promise to me, or if they simply felt sorry for me, but I’ll let them tell you all the ways they helped.

Alan: I was her hot water bottle, her online video finder and drinks fetcher. I let her use me as a human Teddy Bear and I didn’t complain once… OK, I did, but only when she was asleep.

Virgil: I made her fancy hot chocolate and helped John to make her some mac ‘n’ cheese for dinner because her throat was too sore for harder foods. I also kept Grandma away from the kitchen while we made it (I couldn’t help the rest of the time) and sat with her when she demanded to watch Disney's Fantasia (I really like that movie too).

Scott: I took Grandma to the mainland so she could pick up cold remedies and vitamin packed drinks for witchy. I also took over witch warming duties when Alan got bored or needed to pee. Then I promised her that we wouldn’t do anything stupid until she felt well enough to yell at us and fix us after. I don’t think she believed me but she said she appreciated the sentiment.

Gordon: I made her my special chamomile tea, seeped with fresh lemons with a little honey stirred in, yes, it’s as good as it sounds. I also made her a smoothie for extra flu fighting vitamins and kept my mouth shut the entire day.

Grandma: I made her chicken noodle soup.

Jeff: I glared at anyone that made too much noise and told her to rest and stop trying to get up to fetch things.

Kayo: I left a flask of edible chicken noodle soup, made from my dad’s recipe, on her bedside table so she could sip it before bed or if she woke in the night.

John: I gave her lots of cuddles, I made sure she didn’t drown in the bath, I carried her to bed when she fell asleep on Virgil while watching Fantasia for the third time (she likes the music, it makes her feel relaxed but she likes the pictures too. Apparently just listening to the music wouldn’t be good enough.) I’ve been here with her for five hours but EOS is updating me on life outside the Island, so I shall not die of boredom while she drools on my shoulder and steals all my body heat. We shall wait and see what tomorrow brings.


	19. Day 19

Day 19 of Isolation on Tracy Island 2.0 and this is the last time I let Alan do my update for me when I'm too sick to keep an eye on him... 

<https://drive.google.com/file/d/1r6-s_b22iQgRDgivjpJNZ07-SMNgSYX_/view?usp=drivesdk>


	20. Day 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to The Rebel Flower who stepped in to write this while I was too sick to brain properly.
> 
> Formatting has gone weird, I'm too fuzzy to fix it. Sorry.

Day 20 of isolation on Tracy Island 2.0

Kayo here... I was “convinced” to write this update by Scott...  
“Witchy has never skipped a day before in her isolation updates. We can’t let her down when she’s sick and needs her rest,” he said, using the pity card like one waves a white flag around.  
“Then why don’t you write it? You’re her best friend,” I protested.  
I’m not a writer. I don’t have Gordon’s knack for storytelling and exaggeration, or Alan’s naivete about life that makes his stories amusing. Scott is used to telling his brothers bedtime stories from when they were younger. Let him do it.  
“I have to do office stuff...”  
And then, he dared. He smiled his dimpled smile that no one on Earth and beyond can resist, except perhaps for Alan’s zombies and dead people.  
“Office stuff.” I tried to sound unimpressed but to my greatest shame, I’m not impervious to the Dimple King’s magical powers and my resolve was already fading. I can’t say I’m very proud of that.  
“I can’t postpone it... Please?”  
He knows, the traitor. He fluttered his eyelashes, putting damsels in distress to shame and waited.  
I do like Witchy and I do want to help her because she’s taking the burden of those idiots off of me when she’s here, so I caved in... I rolled my eyes at him and made sure my face showed how annoyed at him I was. “Fine, but you owe me now.”  
“Deal,” he said. We shook hands and he sauntered away toward his office.

***

Witchy was upstairs, resting (or trying to) and the others were relatively calm in the lounge, which is always a little suspicious. Personally, I would have gone to the training room to lift some weights or do a few fan forms, but I felt I shouldn’t wander off too far in case someone needed a reminder not to go and bother her. I was pondering about catching up on my reading or doing some office work when Virgil arrived from the hangars holding a flat box. “I was doing some cleaning and found a bin of old toys… Remember that game, John?” he asked, putting the box on the lounge table.  
The box was faded and something told me that it was old enough to be not only from when the boys were kids and before I arrived on the island, but before that when Jeff was young. Why he kept some of those things, I had no idea. The garish yellow colour was an assault to the eyes in itself, and the silly-looking man pictured there didn’t improve things, nor were the bold red letters forming the word Operation.  
John glanced up from his tablet and smiled. “Alan used to stick the tweezers on the edge and let the buzzer ring to no end until dad stopped him and gave him something else to do,” he said.  
“Gordon used to tap rhythms and songs with the tweezers,” Virgil added.  
“Did Jeff stop him and give him something else to do?” I asked.  
“He’d wait for dad to be off with Alan to do it.”  
“Then Scott would slap him upside the head,” John finished.  
I barely managed not to roll my eyes. I can’t say I was surprised.  
Alan opened the box and peered inside. “It requires batteries,” he commented, taking everything out.  
Virgil went to fetch some in Jeff’s desk.  
“Are you sure about this?” John asked.  
Virgil shrugged. “It’s one way to pass time.” He smiled. “Afraid you lost your touch?”  
“Not at all. I’m trying to spare you from a crushing defeat.”  
All Tracys are competitive. All of them. Even quiet, suspectless John.  
“Did I hear crushing defeat? I’m here for the show,” Gordon exclaimed, appearing from nowhere and eying the game on the table. “Wanna play, Kayo?”  
I laughed. “No. I’ll take a seat in the peanut gallery,” I said, settling down in my usual launch seat. “I can handle the bank if you want.”  
Let them ridicule themselves. I took the pile of false notes from him and Virgil distributed the specialist cards between the four brothers.  
“So how do you play?” Alan asked.  
“You pick a card and try to remove the part indicated on it. If you succeed, Kayo will pay you. If you fail, whoever has the specialist card can have a go and earn twice the amount if he succeeds. Whoever has the most money at the end wins.”  
“Sounds easy enough.”  
I saw the exchange between Virgil and Gordon and I think John’s mouth quirked. Nothing was simple with them. Not even children’s games. Why do you think I was sitting away from them?  
They let Alan have a go at first. He picked Water on the Knee and successfully removed the plastic bucket. It was handed to me so that I could pay accordingly. John picked the Wish Bone, but as he positioned his hand over the board, Gordon leaned over and began singing close to his brother’s ear to try and distract him. John declared his tactic amateurish and also succeeded.  
Apparently, the unspoken rules Tracy version of the game was to try and distract whoever was playing so that they failed. This included John shouting “Look out!” at Gordon at the last moment, Gordon imitating the buzzer sound each time Virgil approached the tweezers from the board, Alan—who caught on very quickly—inching his fingers close to the board as if he was going to rattle it when John had another go and Virgil fully integrating his youngest brother to the game by whispering something to him, which earned him a reply that I can’t write here.  
The rowdy game was fully underway when Scott stepped into the lounge. “What are you guys doing? I can hear you all the way from the office,” he complained.  
“We’re playing Operation,” Alan replied.  
Scott seemed surprised. “I didn’t even know we still had that. I thought you took it apart when you were ten to see how it worked, Virg?”  
“And put it back together. Wasn’t that hard.”  
“Want to join us?” Alan invited him.  
Scott seemed to hesitate. “I still have things to do and I should go back.”  
I had to bite my lip to hold back my laughter when someone—and I think it was Virgil!—clucked like a chicken. And as expected, Scott took the bait. He sat down next to John while I was handed back all of the money and the specialist cards were gathered and redistributed.  
“Hey, you can’t reset it, I was winning!” Gordon protested.  
“You were not. I had $100 more than you,” Alan stated.  
Gordon huffed, put the pieces back inside their respective spots, then couldn’t resist playing “Shave and a Haircut” with the buzzer. Scott’s reaction was instantaneous and he reached out to slap the back of his brother’s head twice without even missing a beat.  
They all played a first round with varying degrees of success. Watching them play was more entertaining than actually playing. I began mentally assigning scores to their distraction tactics.  
When it was his turn, Scott picked Writer’s cramp. The irony of the situation was not lost on me and I fought my better judgement for a whole two seconds before I decided to make a move—I am a Tracy at heart after all... I carefully shifted my weight as he concentrated and extended my arm... then at the last moment, I poked his armpit in that one location I know will tickle him then hurried to sit back straight with my bank notes in my hand and an innocent expression on my face.  
He squawked like an offended seagull, hit the side of the game and made it buzz, then looked at the nearest brother accusingly. When said brother stopped laughing long enough to say it wasn’t him, he directed his suspicious eyes at me and I’m rather proud to say that I could keep a straight face and raised an eyebrow at him in return.  
John was next. He picked a card... the bread basket. He took the tweezers from Scott’s hand and didn’t even try to be careful and made the game buzz in less than a second.  
“HA!” Alan hooted out.  
“You didn’t have to play if you didn’t want to anymore,” Virgil side-whispered to him.”  
“Oh no, I’m playing,” he assured him, then took one of the specialist cards in front of him and flicked it between his long fingers before handing it to me.  
He manoeuvred the tweezers with surgical precision, ignoring Gordon’s heavy breathing in his ear, and dropped the plastic slice of bread into my hand. “I believe that is $2000,” he said with a smug smile.  
“Show off,” Virgil muttered good-naturedly while I counted the paper slips and gave them to John.  
“My turn,” Gordon said, reaching for a card, “It says... butterflies in the stomach.”  
The four others froze more or less visibly and Scott gave me a quick side-eye. He remembered the Venom incident, my aversion for the fluttery little creeps and how I made him pay for laughing at me. I ignored him and winked at Gordon. Surprisingly, he had been my hero at the time and I’ll never forget that. But that’s a story for another time.  
Gordon extracted the item from the board without touching the edges. “Once again, I prevailed,” he claimed triumphantly, flicking the plastic butterfly in the air and catching it a few times.  
I handed him two $100 notes and of course, Gordon being Gordon tried to take them while the game piece was still in the air. He failed, the plastic butterfly ricocheted off his elbow and landed somewhere under the furniture.  
Little items like that never land where you expect them, especially on carpet, especially when bouncing off sharp Tracy elbows (I think we can all agree that they are not lumpy, Lady Penelope’s flirting techniques need a little improvement). I refused to join in on the search because, of course, too many people were there already and I was more helpful sitting in my seat with my legs crossed out of the way.  
Gordon looked under the table, then moved on to the little shelf where my father’s bonsai tree and Lady Penelope’s communicator picture are located. He peered underneath, sneezed loudly, then backtracked in horror.  
Screeching like a banshee, he rushed out of the seating area and fled toward the kitchen, nearly knocking over poor Witchy who stood at the top of the stairs.  
“I go fight a lurgy for an hour, take a moment to get something to drink and this is what I come back to?” she said, visibly unimpressed by the sight of four Tracy butts in the air around the lounge table as they scanned the carpet.  
I had to disagree with her on that, it was a rather interesting sight.  
“Why is he even screaming like that, he sounds like he’s seen a ghost?” Gordon could be heard sneezing somewhere in the background and she rolled her eyes.  
She strode to where he had been crouching and bent down and sighed. “Just as I thought... Scott, you forgot to close the office door again,” she said, reaching out and picking up Buddy the bearded dragon from his hiding spot before he scampered away.  
She removed the plastic butterfly from his mouth and cradled him close. “I don’t want a repeat of last time when I had to get him in the vent—”  
Witchy’s eagle eye spotted the twitch in John’s face instantly and he held her gaze, doing his own version of the Tracy smile to placate her. They did that fascinating wordless exchange established couples seem to be able to do for a moment and then, she then turned to me, noticed the fake bank notes in my hands and threw me a disappointed: “You’re encouraging them?”  
I immediately pointed at John to defend myself. “He’s winning,” I said.  
“If I draw brain freeze, I’ll be able to get you a lifetime supply of socks that don’t roll down. Think about it,” he deadpanned.  
She looked at us as if we had lost our minds—she might be right—then stormed off with the dragon.  
I guess I should go check on Gordon now. And probably make a new batch of soup as a peace offering.  
Author’s note: Shave and a Haircut is what “that knock on the door” is called.


	21. Day 21

Day 21 of Isolation on Tracy Island 2.0

"What the hell kind of noise was that?" 

"I sneezed."

"That was NOT a sneeze," Alan argued, looking at me warily, like he expected me to explode again any second and take them all out with me. I glared at him, because how dare? I was the sick one and he was treating me like I was doing it to spite him. 

"Be nice to her," John sighed, but his tone said he was barely listening and was pretty much done with all of us now. 

I was camped out on the couch, where I'd been for much of the day. I'd gone past the point of having a head that felt like a steel band was rehearsing in there and had downgraded it to little demons with pitchforks that jabbed me whenever I coughed, sneezed or moved my head quickly. It was more bearable and wasn't as affected by sound levels made worse by noisy brothers. 

I looked like crap, I knew that, my hair was scraped up on top of my head in a loose bun, I was wearing the shirt that John hates (but it was hidden by a blanket so his eyes were safe), soft leggings and the fluffiest socks imaginable. I wouldn't be winning any beauty pageants any time soon but at least I was comfortable. And I was still cold. 

I know, I know, I could just go and put a jumper on or something, but that wouldn't work. Because I was in that awkward stage where I was too hot with a thick jumper on, but too cold without it. The blanket helped but it still wasn't right. And I was getting rather fed up. 

Gordon, sweet boy that he is, handed me a mug of his famous tea (which is a lot more useful than his equally as famous squid sense right now) and immediately went into lecture mode. 

"Have you let Virgil check your temperature lately?" 

"Yes," I sighed and he lifted an eyebrow, clearly not believing me. 

"She has," John confirmed. "And she's taken those vitamins. She's behaving."

"Makes a change from last time."

"Hey! No picking on me," I croaked, pausing to have a coughing fit. "Last time I was a strong, independent woman and now…" I paused, not sure how to finish that sentence without making myself sound bad or proving his point. I rephrased. "Look, last time I was used to doing everything for myself and not relying on anyone, now I've learnt to accept a little help now and then."

"You mean you were awkward, argumentative, you bit me and we had to resort to underhanded tactics?" Virgil joined in, earning himself a glare. 

"Anything sounds bad when you say it like that," I grumped, lifting John's arm to snuggle under. "I said I was sorry for biting you but you were trying to do medical things to me and you know I don't work that way."

"Let me see your throat," Gordon asked, ignoring the ranting going on. I dutifully tipped my head back and opened my mouth. 

"Not as bad as it was," Gordon admitted, after shining a light inside. "Close." 

I closed my mouth and straightened my head so he could feel the glands in my neck. 

"See, in being an adult and allowing myself to be looked at," I said, turning my head slightly to stick my tongue out at Virgil. 

"Oh yes, you're a very mature adult," Virgil drawled. John sniggered but hid it with a cough that I knew was faked but I couldn't be bothered to argue about. 

"Glands have gone down, she's definitely on the mend," Gordon told John, completely ignoring me. "Did she sleep OK?" 

"I am here you know, I can answer questions." Again I was ignored. "You don't have to fuss over me, I can look after myself."

"EOS said she was very restless and woke up a number of times."

"I could have told you that," I said. "Since I was the one not sleeping."

"Did she drink much during the night?" 

"They aren't listening to me, are they?" I asked Alan. 

"They never do. Try being the youngest with four big brothers and a grandma. I've found it's best to just let them do their thing and just ignore them," he shrugged and offered me his spare controller. "Wanna play?" 

I shook my head. "Thanks for the offer, baby bean, but I'm crap at it most days and this is not most days, plus I think the screen would make my headache worse."

Alan nodded his agreement, seeing the wiseness in my answer and went back to his game.

"I've been doing some research," a voice piped up from the portable comm on Jeff's desk. 

"You have, EOS? What about?" John asked, pulled from his conversation with Gordon about my apparently fragile physical health. 

"Cold remedies," she answered proudly. 

"Cold remedies?" I asked dubiously. "Thank you, but I don't think I need-" 

"Some of them seem to have no basis in scientific fact and so I cannot vouch for their effectiveness, but I do believe that some may help," she continued, completely ignoring the fact that I had been talking. 

"Per my research I have disregarded some ideas and made plans to implement others."

"John?" I whispered, looking up at him. 

"Hm?" 

"Are we sure she's not still evil and trying to kill me off?" 

"Well, nothing in life is a hundred percent certain," he mused. I sat up a little and tried to shift away but his arm tightened around my waist and dragged me back. "I'll make sure she doesn't try to kill you, OK?" 

"Promise? Death by AI might be cheaper than a divorce."

"Tempting as that sounds, I promise."

I narrowed my eyes at him but stayed put, he was comfy and smelt nice but the second Scott got back I'd be swapping, Scott would never treat me this way. 

"One of the remedies involves a drink called Gogol Mogol," EOS announced. 

"That doesn't sound good," I muttered under my breath. 

"What's that? It sounds vaguely Russian," John asked, already interested. Damn him and his desire to allow her to continue to grow and think for herself. He encourages her far too much. 

"It is, it originates from both Russia and the Ukraine, you whisk together warm milk, honey, sugar-"

"That doesn't sound too bad so far," Gordon said, sounding surprised. 

"Butter and egg yolk," EOS continued. 

"Nope! I'm out, I don't do egg in drinks, it's just weird. And butter should be on bread, not in a drink."

"So you don't like eggnog?" Virgil asked. 

"Eww, no, I'm English, we don't do that sort of thing." Yes, I admit, I said 'that sort of thing' like it was something disgusting and inappropriate, which to me it was. 

"You never know, if this lockdown continues we might actually get a peaceful Christmas at home this year, then Dad can make his famous eggnog, the one that we all have to drink Christmas eve…" Virgil grinned evilly. 

"Why are you picking on me today, Chonky? You're supposed to be the nice one." 

Virgil batted his eyelashes innocently in my direction, but I wasn't fooled, I knew the truth. 

"If you do not like that remedy there is also the one with the dirty socks." 

"Erm, the what now?" Virgil was let off with a warning as I became instantly distracted. "I refuse to have dirty socks anywhere near me, let alone crushed up or stuffed in my mouth or whatever form this remedy takes.”

“You simply massage a substance called lard into your neck and then use dirty socks as a scarf…”

“Pass,” I declared.

"I've heard of that one!" Gordon said. 

"I've looked into what lard is and my research says it is the rendered fat of the fatty tissue of a pig."

"We could try bacon grease," Alan suggested. 

"No, we can't. That remedy is definitely not true," John insisted, seeing the look of horror on my face. 

"It is, I read about it on Wikipedia," EOS argued. 

"Oh, then it has to be real," John rolled his eyes. 

"I have more if bacon fat is not to your liking," EOS interrupted. 

"What are they?" I asked suspiciously. 

“Pickled plums,” EOS suggested. “In Japan they eat umeboshi, also known as a pickled plum, to prevent and fight colds and flu.”

“That doesn't sound too bad,” Alan commented, obviously listening in.

“Although it’s not actually a plum, it's a variety of apricot-”

I gasped loudly, lifting my head in horror. “I TOLD you she was murderous!”

“I am not!”

“EOS, she’s allergic to apricots,” John explained. “And feeling dramatic.”

“I am not dramatic, I’m just not well,” I pouted.

“Garlic in a glass of milk,” EOS tried again.

I shook my head.

“Next?” John said.

“Onions are said to be very good, you can put them in her socks or she can wear them as a necklace.”

“Is she determined to make me smell?”

“Two pairs of socks,” EOS continued to reel off. 

“I’m already wearing the thickest I can find,” I assured her.

“No, for this you soak your feet in hot water, then take a pair of socks, soak them in cold water, wring them out and wear them with dry socks over the top and sleep in them.”

I didn’t even dignify that with an answer. Wearing wet socks was never going to happen.

“That’s not healthy, EOS, wet socks will make her feel worse. Plus she already puts her cold feet on me, I don't want to suffer them cold and wet.”

“What about lizard soup?” EOS offered next. 

“What, with real lizards?” Gordon asked with a laugh. 

“Yes, the recipe calls for dried lizards simmered with yams and chinese dates to make a broth.”

“John, please,” I whined, burying my face in his neck in an attempt to escape all my problems. I love EOS, I do, she is our weird AI child but my gods does she try my patience sometimes.

“EOS, if you do not have any sensible suggestions then let’s not have any at all.”

“I do have sensible suggestions, I told you that I had disregarded some as they had no scientific basis or the ingredients would not be available on the island,” she argued.

“And you think that dried lizards are something we just have hanging around in the pantry?” I asked, completely bemused, my voice muffled against his shoulder.

“No, but we have lizards in Scott’s office. As far as I can see they serve no purpose…”

“I’m out!” I coughed, sitting up and throwing the blankets off. “I won’t sit here and have her suggest I eat our babies because I have a cold.”

I don’t know if John said anything to her because I’d left the room, but I hope so, she needed telling. There were some things that should never be thought about let alone suggested. Honestly, next she'd be telling me to skin Armstrong and use his fluff as a vest or something. 

I had only moved from the lounge to the kitchen but I was already feeling a bit shaky and very chilly, wishing I'd brought the blanket with me. 

I reached for the tea kettle, checking there was water in it before putting it on the stove to boil. I’m old fashioned in many ways and any good witch will tell you that when it comes to tea leaf or coffee grounds readings you have to have fresh boiled water over flame, it’s the law and so I have to have a proper old style kettle in the kitchen at all times. And yes they tease me about it. I flicked on the flames and that was when I heard it in the distance, the familiar whining drone of powerful engines.

“Oh, thank the gods,” I groaned, my salvation was incoming.

I had made my fruity herbal tea and was sipping it by the time Scott came to find me.

“I heard that you stormed out of the lounge,” he told me by way of greeting.

“EOS told me to eat our children," I informed him. 

He blinked. “Well, I can’t say that I ever expected to hear that, but unfortunately I’m not that shocked either.”

“Mood,” I muttered, sipping from my cup and shivering pathetically.

“I might regret asking,” he started, helping himself to one of my blackberry and apple tea bags and pouring in hot water, “but how did the subject of eating Buddy and Ellie come up?”

“EOS was trying to help by offering cold cures, apparently lizard soup is a thing,” I shrugged, adding more honey to my tea. I like things sweet dammit.

"Well, you learn something new every day, I guess. Did any of these remedies sound like they might actually work?" 

"Nope," I sighed. "And I'm not going back to hear more, I'm just going to sit here and freeze for a bit and then maybe got to bed."

"That's not exactly what I'd call a sensible plan, the freezing part I mean, the bed would be good."

"But I'm bored of bed," I whined, yes, I'm admitting it, I was in whining territory today, I'm not proud of it but it is what it is. "I've been waiting for you to get back to save me from them all, I'm counting on you, don't let me down."

"So the fact that I just had to save a family of hikers from a broken down Gondola cable car half way up Ben Nevis means nothing when I should have been here to save you?"

"Was anyone hurt?" 

"Nope."

"Were the kids excited to ride in Thunderbird One?" 

"Yep," he grinned, proud of his baby. 

"Then no, it means nothing, I'm more important," I decided, sipping my tea, daring him to argue. "You need to go and sort your idiot brothers and EOS out."

"Fine, you win," he chuckled, getting up from his chair. "I'll go and whip them into shape."

"Thank you," I said. He dropped a kiss on top of my head and left me alone to my misery. 

It was actually quite nice to sit quietly for a while, the only person who wandered in was Jeff, but he didn't disturb me to the point of being annoying. He just helped himself to some coffee from the pot that was on its warmer and after checking on me briefly, left again. 

Scott returned after twenty minutes, finding me half asleep with my head on my folded arms which rested on the dining table. 

A warmth encircled my shoulders and I sighed gratefully, sliding my arms into the sleeves. 

"I knew you had it," I muttered. 

"Well, it is my hoodie."

"No, it's our hoodie," I corrected him, sitting up. "But I appreciate the loan of it at this, my time of need."

"Come on."

"No, I've not finished my drink."

Scott picked up my half finished tea, felt the temperature, luke warm would be kind, and abandoned it, knowing it was a lost cause, I was just using it as an excuse. "Back to the lounge, you can't stay here all day."

"I think you'll find I can," I argued, but I didn't put up much of a fight when he dragged me to my feet and propelled me up the stairs to the lounge.

Scott deposited me on the couch beside John and took the other side, sandwiching me between them so I couldn't run away. 

"EOS, don't you have something to say?" John prompted in a semi-stern voice that I would have been a lot more interested in if I wasn't feeling so close to death. I made a mental note to explore it at a later date, preferably when I had rejoined the land of the living. 

"I am sorry that I suggested using the bearded dragons to make soup," she parted obediently. 

"And?" John pushed. 

"And I have presented my findings in a more helpful way to Gordon and Virgil and they have agreed to help me implement them," EOS continued.

"Do I even want to know?" I asked Scott, who was my saviour, champion and provider of the hoodie and there I trust him. 

"It's safe, we promise," John assured me. "I checked her research and picked the things I knew you could actually stomach."

"OK," I sighed. "What am I getting?" 

"EOS was right, onions and garlic do help, so, since I can actually follow a recipe and Virgil isn't too bad either, we're going to make you your favourite bolognese with lots of onions and garlic."

"And lemon, honey and ginger are all recommended ,"Gordon added, "so I'm going to make you a big pot of lemon, ginger and honey tea from scratch."

"That doesn't sound too awful," I admitted. 

"We can't do anything for the reduction of stress," Scott added, "we can't do miracles, but we'll try to behave for a few days until you feel better."

"I'd appreciate that."

"While we're doing that you're going to go and enjoy a hot bath, as hot as you can stand, because sweating out a cold is recommended," John continued. "Then you're going to get dressed in your warmest sleepwear-" 

"My bat onesie!" 

"Oh! I'm gonna wear my onesie too," Alan decided. 

"And me," Gordon grinned, glancing at Virgil.

"Sure, let's have a onesie night."

"I refuse to wear that thing," John argued. 

"Me either," Scott said, joining in. "They don't fit us."

"I'll allow that," I agreed generously. 

"And then we can watch that ridiculous puppet thing that you like because you always say it makes you happy," John finished. 

"Seriously, you're volunteering to watch the Muppets with me?" I was so shocked you could have smacked me around the head and called me Melvin. 

"Sometimes we have to make sacrifices for the good of the family," he answered seriously. "Now scoot, we have cooking to do and you have a bath to stew in."

There wasn't much I could say to that, so I did as I was told, heading to the biggest bathroom where I kept the good bath oils, the one with the jacuzzi tub. I could feel the bubbles calling my name. 

"You know you're not getting that hoodie back any time soon, don't you?" I heard John telling Scott as I went up the stairs. I didn't need to hear the answer to know he was right, I was keeping this for at least a week.


	22. Day 22

Day 22 of Isolation on Tracy Island 2.0. 

There is weirdness going on in this villa, weirdness I tell you. They all seem to be getting on really well and I knew they were planning something, I just didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing. 

"OK, what's going on?" I asked Alan, picking on the smallest of the bunch. He was often the weak link in the group, he couldn't stand to be accused of things he hadn't done. 

"Nothing!" he squawked but he had that shifty look in his eyes that I recognised far too well. 

"Nope, not buying it," I coughed, folding my arms. I was starting to feel better but I was still feeling delicate and needing to rest a lot or I was getting light headed and grumpy (although Gordon said I was always grumpy). 

"OK," he sighed, knowing he was beaten. 

I waved a hand in a 'continue' gesture. 

"It's thanksgiving tomorrow."

I gave him a blank look, because I'm English and even though I'd heard of thanksgiving it wasn't something that I knew anything about and I definitely didn't celebrate it. 

"We've never celebrated before," I said. 

"We'll we've never had the time before," he shrugged, not taking his eyes off his game. 

Scott came in to sit down beside me with a cup of Gordon's tea which he handed me. I swear if I drink much more of this tea I'd start to slosh and look like a lemon. 

"What he means is that International Rescue has taken up so much of our time for so long that we've never wanted to do a big celebration because it would always get interrupted. We tried the first few years but every time a rescue call would come in and we'd end up leaving, it stopped being worth the effort."

"We still try to do Christmas," John added, nudging me until I sipped my tea. Honestly, I hate tea, I only drink it when I'm not well because coffee tastes weird when I have a cold, but it was making me feel a bit better so I was sucking it up. 

"But thanksgiving ended up being forgotten," Alan finished. "So Dad said we should make the most of this year and the fact that it's unlikely we'll get a call."

"We know the world is in a bad place right now but people need to be grateful for the fact that, while they can't see their family and friends as much as they would like to, they are doing their bit to keep their loved ones safe. And that's what thanksgiving is about, spending time with family and being thankful for everything you have," Scott said. 

"I can understand that part," I nodded. "I just don't get the whole thanksgiving thing, it's not something we do where I'm from, so I know nothing about it. What's the story?" 

All three of them looked at each other, exchanging one of those silent looks that family does where they are communicating nonverbally.

" I too would like to understand more about this human custom," EOS said, her holographic symbol floating peacefully above the table. "It sounds most interesting."

"We could tell you, but Grandma would be better, she used to tell us the story when we were kids," Scott said. 

"Does this mean you guys have forgotten most of the story?" I guessed. 

"No, of course not!" Alan protested. 

I can't say I believed them. 

Grandma was duly summoned to the lounge and we all settled in various chairs and couches like kids in anticipation of storytime. 

"It all began around five hundred years ago," Grandma began, holding court like the Queen she is. "And a great many people in England were unhappy because their King wouldn't allow them to worship as they liked."

"Always the way," I muttered under my breath. "Always some king or other telling people how to pray. Couldn't even be a witch without being killed for it, but I know the Protestants had the same kind of trouble."

"The king told them they must worship his way or risk imprisonment or even death," Grandma said. "They were of course unhappy with this and a great many took it upon themselves to flee the country to settle elsewhere."

"So basically they yeet skeeted out of there?" I said. 

"That's one way of putting it," Scott laughed. 

"First they tried Holland, and called themselves Pilgrims, a word meaning someone who is always travelling to find something they love or a land where they could be happier. They said 'from place to place, toward heaven, their dearest country'."

I sipped my tea and listened, it was easy enough to follow so far, I knew about religious persecution, although I'd never left my home for it. 

"The pilgrims were happy there for a while, they were quiet, peaceful people, but they were very poor. And, when their children began to grow up, they didn't have the same upbringing as their parents had, they weren't like English children, they spoke Dutch, like the children of Holland and some grew very disobedient and refused to go to church anymore."

"Sounds legit."

"The parents weren't impressed with this and, after much deliberation they decided to move again, wishing to go somewhere they could live their own way and make their own rules. They hired two ships, the Mayflower-" 

"Oh, I've heard of that one! That's one thing I do know," I said, quite proud of my rather limited knowledge but you know, you gotta take what you can get. 

"They hired the Mayflower and the Speedwell to take them across the sea to another land where they could make their home."

"So the pilgrim Mamas and Papas were like forget this, we're gonna ship off somewhere we get to make the rules?" I asked. 

"Essentially, yes," John admitted. 

"Honestly, I'm not too sure what to think of this right now, but I'm reserving judgment."

Grandma gave me a squinty eyed look of warning and I mimed zipping my lips. 

"Unfortunately," she who must be obeyed continued, "the Speedwell was not a strong ship, and the captain had to take her home again before she had gone very far. The mayflower returned too to take some of the Speedwell's passengers. They travelled for more than two months-" 

"Two months!" Alan yelped, "we can go from here to England in less than an hour in Thunderbird One."

"Yeah, that's crazy," Virgil agreed, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe it. 

"They landed and started building the first homes on Christmas day, but the journey hadn't been kind to them, many were sick and still suffered months later so were little help in the house raisings. They had barely any food, they had landed in winter when the land was barren and frozen, with great snow falls the likes of which they had never seen before."

"That sucks," Gordon said. "They should have been better prepared."

"By the time spring arrived their number had reduced by half from illness, starvation and cold," Grandma said, continuing with her far from pleasant tale. "The indigenous tribes of the area came to help, being friendly people and offered grain, seeds and tools with which to farm as well as the knowledge of when and how to plant to make the most of the land."

"That was nice of them," EOS said. "I have observed that it is uncommon for humans to help each other without payment or gain, but it seems that it was not always the case."

"No, it wasn't," John agreed. "No matter what you read of humans, EOS, remember that where there is bad there is also good. Unfortunately it's often the bad we hear about while the good remain unnoticed, but that doesn't lessen their value or importance."

I squeezed his knee affectionately, just because I could and it's funny to watch him jump sometimes. His hand landed on top of mine to prevent me doing it again but I knew he didn't mind really. 

"The pilgrims farmed well all summer and when the autumn cape and they had harvested their crops they decided that a feast was in order to celebrate their first year, their first harvest and their new life. They invited all their native friends to attend and they happily agreed, bringing with them deer and other foods to share. They must have enjoyed themselves because the party lasted for three days. And now we celebrate being thankful for what we have every year at thanksgiving," Grandma finished, looking pleased with herself. She obviously loved the story and had told it with a kind of familiar comfort which told me that it was once she'd heard many times before, probably from her own grandparents.

I loved those kinds of stories, the ones that bring back memories or a time past, one's that make you smile when you think of them. 

"Wow, they really knew how to throw down and have a good time," Alan grinned. " Do we get a three day party?" 

"I wish we did, but no, " Scott chuckled, "nice try though, squirt."

"Right, now that you've all kept me busy telling you stories, I'm going to go and see if you're father is ready to go, he's taking me to the mainland for supplies for tomorrows meal." Grandma jumped up from couch with a lot more energy than I had (she was obviously invigorated by the thought of shopping) and toddled off to hunt down Jeff. 

"John?" EOS asked quietly. 

"Yes, EOS?" 

"I don't understand Grandma's story."

"What didn't you understand, baby girl?" I asked her, butting in because I was bored quite honestly. 

"I have checked the facts of the story and found that it is not historically accurate." 

"What isn't?" Alan asked. 

"It appears that, while the meal did indeed happen, it was not called the first thanksgiving until later and that it was actually an American president, Abraham Lincoln, who heard about the meal from a diary of the time and used it as a moral booster during the Civil War."

"Oh, well that's not as nice," Gordon admitted. 

"My research also tells me that the pilgrims and the native Americans did not stay friends for long, indeed there were many nasty things done to them culminating in the decimation of their culture. Therefore I do not understand why such a thing is celebrated."

"Unfortunately, that's the English for you," I sighed. "For a small country we've done a lot of harm, we've invaded a lot of countries and taken over thinking that our ways were better, when really the best way was that of the native people. It's one of the things about being English I'm not proud of."

"It's not always that simple," John started, adopting that patiently explaining tone of his. It wasn't that 'I'm talking to an idiot' one that some men end up doing, but one that showed he was willing to listen and engage in an actual conversation. And people wonder why I love him so much. 

"Why not? History cannot be ignored," EOS insisted. 

"In this instance, it's not about history being ignored, but the spirit of the holiday changing over time. In the case of Thanksgiving its more about taking time out of your lives to stop and think about why you are thankful, to think about what you have and what your are grateful to have. You spend time with your family and friends and share stories and time. As with many things in life its a nasty part of history that something positive has come out of."

"Like how a lot of people don't celebrate Christmas as the birth of Jesus, because they aren't religious in that way, but treat it more as a time of family and a time to enjoy company, food and thoughtful gifts. So many traditions have developed over the years that can't be explained by history but are important just the same," Virgil told her. If John was the closest thing to a father to her, Virgil was definitely her ever patient uncle, he was always happy to talk to her. 

"So it is not a celebration of the harvest, the meal or the actions after?" 

"No, its about the spirit of the meal, the sharing of food with those for might not have any, of reflecting on the things you are thankful for and enjoying time with your loved ones," John explained. 

"I do not understand the spirit, I do not recall any ghosts in the story, but I find humans to be confusing, so I shall simply observe the remainder of your rituals and see for myself," she decided, her hologram blinking out. 

"Well," I sighed. "I have a feeling that tomorrow is going to be interesting."


	23. Day 23

Day 23 of Isolation on Tracy Island and I found out something today…

Jeff is an amazing cook. But shhh, don't tell anyone.

I’m at that point in my cold where I’m able to breathe again (well, mostly), I’ve stopped sneezing and I’m only coughing when I talk too much. The boys are enjoying the quiet time while they can.

“I’m feeling a bit better,” I announced to John as he was getting dressed. He paused half inside the T-shirt he was pulling on and tilted his head to look at me through the neck hole. For a smart boy he can be so dumb sometimes. I got up and pulled the shirt down the rest of the way, smoothing his hair when his head popped up out through the neck hole. I couldn't help myself and stole a little kiss, just because he was there, adorable and gorgeous. 

“That’s good,” he stole a kiss of his own in retaliation. 

“And I want to stay that way,” I continued, passing him his comb from the desk.

“A wise decision.”

“So, I have a question.”

He was concentrating on the combing of his swooshy hair so didn't look at me when he answered. “And that is?”

“What’s the likelihood of me having a relapse if I eat Grandma’s cooking?”

“None at all.”

“Babe, I love Grandma, I do, but I beg to differ, her cooking could make a zombie throw up.”

“Well, that’s an image I’ll never get rid of, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, smiling sweetly.

“But in answer, you won’t because Grandma doesn’t cook Thanksgiving dinner, that’s Dad’s domain.”

“It is?” Did I sound shocked? I thought so. “Jeff cooks?”

John nodded, moving aside so I could rummage in the wardrobe. I chose my warmest smart top, not that I had a lot of choice in there, John had refused to let me bring more than a third of my clothes out of fear that he’d end up sucked into Narnia while looking for a tie or something. And he calls me dramatic. The top was a soft purple jumper, quite light so I could wear a vest top under it and layer without being uncomfortable. I’m picky with my clothes, sue me.

“Yes, Dad cooks, but he doesn’t do it that often, he knows Grandma likes to do most of it. As you know it makes her feel useful to look after us, it gives her something to do while we're out on rescues, something to focus on. So he never argues with her about it, except for Thanksgiving. Then it’s all on him.”

“So we’re safe?” I pulled on my jumper and stole his comb to fix my hair again. I was feeling better, that was true, and so I’d made an effort to actually brush and semi-style my hair and I’d even pushed the boat out with a little concealer to cover up my cold induced spots, dusted on a little powder and even done something that could be called eyeshadow, but I was still a bit delicate.

“Well, in eating it you are, but Dad can get a little bossy in the kitchen, he likes things done a certain way and to his schedule.”

“Then I’ll be keeping out of the kitchen, I wouldn’t want to get in his way.”

“That will not be an option,” John warned me, picking up both our phones from the bedside table where they had been charging and handing me mine. “But you might get away with light duties due to your fragile physical state.”

He dodged my smack (I'll show him fragile) and dived through the door to freedom. 

***

“Alright, troops, listen up!” Jeff yelled from the kitchen. “I want everyone down here helping and I mean everyone.”

We all jumped to attention and made our way to the kitchen like good little soldiers reporting for duty.

“I’ve split you into pairs,” Jeff said pointing to the counter. “There are your lists of tasks, all simple things, I’ll be handling the cooking, you’re just on prep. Any questions?”

I wasn’t sure if Jeff was suddenly scary, impressive or weirdly attractive in his apron (I made a mental note to snap a picture for the fan page) so I was a little hesitant in raising my hand.

"Yes?" he asked in the same tone John has when he knows he has to answer, doesn’t want to, but is trying to be polite . 

"Yeah, I have a question."

"What is it?" 

"What foods do you have at Thanksgiving? Like what will we be making? Because I've never done this before and I'm a little out of my depth. I'm English, we show our thanks with a box of chocolates or a bacon sandwich in the morning after a good night."

Scott snorted softly in amusement, John just grinned knowing he'd received many bacon sandwiches for just that reason. 

"Oh…er...just the usual, I guess," Jeff answered, already seeming distracted as he glanced at his watch to check the time. Had I thrown his schedule off already? Oh well, too late now. 

"What's the usual?" I pushed. 

"Turkey," Virgil offered. 

"Turkey I know."

"Mashed potatoes," Alan added. 

"Cool, got that. Do you do roast ones too?" 

"Roasted potatoes?" 

"Yeah."

"She means those things she made with Parker two Christmases ago," John told him. "Remember she said 'you can't have a roast without roasties' and everyone got confused?"

"Oh! Those crispy potato chunk things?" Alan grinned. "I liked those, but no, we don't have them for Thanksgiving."

I just shook my head sadly, their poor turkey was going to look so sad to me without the proper accompanying potatoes, but I wasn't here to judge…who am I kidding, I totally was. 

"What else do you have?" 

"Corn and cornbread," Scott said. 

"Green bean casserole," Gordon added. 

“Oh and stuffing in the turkey, and don’t forget the pie.”

I tried to school my face so it was only registering confusion rather than the disgust that I was feeling. There were maybe three things in that list that sounded normal or even slightly edible to me and I was feeling a little scared.

“Get your lists, we’re three minutes behind schedule now,” Jeff prompted and we scrambled to grab and get going.

I had been paired up with in a threesome with Alan and Kayo, Scott had been paired with John and Virgil was with Gordon. I wondered how well this would go down but it seemed that everyone was more concerned about messing up Jeff’s carefully organised plans than in being silly, so things went off without much trouble.

I was set to work on the pies which turned out to be pumpkin. I’d apparently been given this task because I can actually bake. 

“Do I have to follow the recipe exactly,” I side whispered to Alan but Jeff apparently had the ears of a bat and heard me from across the room.

“Yes, you do,” Jeff answered. 

“But this is shortcrust pastry,” I argued. “Like, plain pastry.”

“Yeah.”

“And isn’t pumpkin pie sweet? As in it’s a dessert?”

“Sure is.”

“Then why isn’t this sweet pastry?”

There was silence. I waited. 

“Because it isn’t,” was the answer I eventually got. I shrugged and got on with making the very boring and not complimentary pastry and lining tins with it while Alan hollowed out and chopped up some pumpkins.

Following the recipe we blitzed the pumpkin then I left Alan and Kayo to the measuring of things, as I had done with the pastry ingredients. I would never understand the weird measuring cups system they used. John was with me on this one, it was far more precise and regulated to weigh things out. Like if you were measuring something like butter, did you use the whole cup to scoop it out of the pot like ice cream? Did you pack it in? Or melt it which wouldn't work for pastry as it needs to be kept cold? Nothing made sense!

Kayo thought it would be more useful to send me to John and Scott to deal with, since I was the rogue extra and apparently my constant questions were annoying her.

I sidled over to their workstation and sat patiently on a stool to await my orders.

“You win,” Scott said, shaking John’s hand. “It took them less than half an hour to pass her over.”

“How dare! You two are supposed to be nice to me. I’m not staying here to be insulted.” I slid off the stool and went to Virgil and Gordon, them I could trust.

“What did they say?” Virgil asked when I appeared by his side.

“They were apparently betting on how long I’d survive in the Kayo camp.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to hang with us,” Gordon said generously. “Wanna shuck those corn cobs?”

“Ewww! Do I want to do what to the corn?” I yelped.

“Shuck, woman, shuck! Not whatever your dirty mind thought I said.”

I heard a clang as Scott dropped something, too busy laughing his arse off to hold on to it properly, but I tried hard to ignore him, I was an adult after all.

“I resent that remark. I don’t have a dirty mind, I have a sexy imagination.”

I shot a glare at my darling husband who was now laughing with his rat of a brother. Honestly, I get zero respect in this house. ZERO.

“Just how sexy is her imagination?” Scott asked John between gasping breaths as he tried to calm down.

“Don’t you dare answer that!” I yelled over, setting Scott off into fresh hysterics. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” John promised but I didn’t believe him. He had that wicked glint in his eye that told me he couldn’t be trusted, just like the rest of them (even Alan was sniggering to himself).

I looked at Virgil, who had his lips pressed together so tightly they had ceased to exist in an effort not to laugh. 

“Five out of ten for effort,” I told him. 

“Thanks,” he said, clearing his throat.

I tried to be sensible, I really did, because Jeff was looking over like he was debating where to hide our bodies and I didn’t want to test him.

"So how do I do this corn?" 

More sniggers. I swear they are like five year olds that heard the word poop. 

"You sh- uh, you peel them so that we can grill or boil it," Virgil answered. 

"Just peel them? Like a banana?" 

"Kinda, you have to really grip them tight and…hang on I'll show you." He picked up some corn.

“So you grab a corn stick.”

“The ear.”

“Fine, grab its ear, whatever.”

“No, it's called an ear of corn," Gordon laughed. 

I ignored him. 

"Pull off the outer leaves,” he stripped off the green leaves with practiced ease. “Until you have just the one thin layer of inner leaves.”

“Take it’s jacket off, got it, what's next?”

“You do it too,” he instructed, nodding to the pile of corn. I dutifully selected a stick, sorry, an ear, and pulled the outer leaves away.

“Next you peel back the leaves just enough to see the top few rows of kernels, think of it like a zipper on a sleeping back, or like you said, as a banana.” He showed me what he meant and I followed. I like learning from Virgil, he is a big believer in learning by doing, but he’ll always give you examples of what he means and show you how to do it.

“So you strip it like it’s friday night?”

More laughter and a glare at Scott later and I turned back to Virgil and his instructions.

“See this bit that looks like a tassel?” He pointed and I nodded. “Grab it and yank down firmly in one smooth move. Sharp and firm, okay?” He grasped the tassel and yanked down quickly and easily, the leaf coming away with it. Perfect.

“Now you try.” 

I gave it a go but didn’t quite have the same knack as he did.

“You’ll get there, you’re just a bit too slow and delicate,” he paused for a second to think. “Try thinking of it like a wax strip when you do your legs, hard and fast.”

Now that made sense to me. I held the tasseled end and gave it a quick, hard tug straight down but at an angle. It peeled down in one easy motion.

“There, that’s it, you got it,” he praised, quickly doing the rest of his ear. “Now just make sure all these little silky thread bits are stripped off, break away the leaves and you’re done.”

I picked at the threads and proudly displayed my shucked ear of corn.

“Perfect,” Virgil praised. “Now do the rest.” I looked over at the bucket full of corn. This would take a while.

“Want to help me do these beans?” Gordon asked when I was eventually done. I reached over and poked my finger into the green beans Gordon was arranging in a very large casserole dish. They looked gross, not gonna lie.

“What are you going to do to them?” I asked dubiously, because honestly their idea of good food wasn’t matching up to mine.

“We’re gonna add some fried onions,” Gordon said and I nodded, that seemed normal enough. “Then we're gonna pour in the soup-”

I held up a hand to cut him off. “Excuse me, soup?”

“Yeah, mushroom soup,” Gordon pointed to the cans on the table beside Jeff.

The noise I made was somewhere between bubbling swamp and a cat with a hairball. Gods, I felt sick. 

“Excuse me for one moment,” I said as politely as I could, sliding down off my stool and scooching over to John.

“Hey,” he greeted me, glancing up from the sugar he was dissolving in a big pan of water.

“Hi,” I answered, nosing into his pan.

“You OK?”

“Nope, because my husband lied to me this morning,” I sighed sadly, ignoring Scott who had started to chuckle again.

“I can assure you I did no such thing. I’d never lie to you,” John answered, gently stirring the sugar water.

“You promised me the food would be safe, when Gordy is over there dumping mushroom soup on the veg. Tell me in what world is that a safe or good idea?”

“Ah, yeah, I might have fudged the truth a tiny bit, but honestly I forgot about green bean casserole.”

“How could you forget about that frankencreation of a dish? Look at it!” I gestured to the table where Gordon was merrily pouring soup on top of the beans. “It’s evil.”

“You don’t have to eat it,” he promised. “We know you see mushrooms as poison.”

“I’m really not sure about any of this,” I winced.

***

“This is a LOT of food,” I whistled when we finally sat down at the table Grandma and I had set out, some six hours later. I was hungry, and I know the boys can scoff like they haven't eaten in a year, but even this might be too much for us.

It had been decided that I would be of more use in helping Grandma and I was (nicely) banished from the kitchen, which was kinda alien for me since I was usually the one yelling at them to get out while I was cooking. How the tables had turned. 

I looked at the array of dishes on offer and honestly, most of them looked rather scary, but the turkeys, both of them, looked amazing, there were four mountain sized piles of mashed potatoes in huge bowls, a shiny tray full of grilled and buttered corn cobs, the dreaded green beans, some random thing in a bowl that looked like the top of a hot chocolate, bread rolls and something that I think was the corn bread they had talked about but I wasn’t sure. This was going to be interesting.

We all sat down, well, Jeff did and I did, but then there was a fight over who got to sit to my right since John claimed the left. I have no idea why I was suddenly so popular, but Alan won by sliding into the chair when Scott and Gordon were having a good natured shoving fight. 

I don’t know if it was for my benefit or because they aren't a particularly religious family in general, but there was no grace said before the start of the meal. Instead Jeff started and one by one we went around the table and said what we were thankful for that year. The consensus was that we were mostly thankful for being lucky enough to be together, to be safe, to have a nice roof over our heads and food in the cupboards. We, probably more than anyone, knew just how harsh the world could be. The boys had seen the worst of society, seen accidents and injuries and knew that they couldn't save everyone, but they would have a bloody good go. We’d talked a lot over the last lockdown and this one, and couldn't quite understand why people seemed to be going out of their way to endanger people by being selfish rather than helping as much as they could. In our world that wasn’t even an option, being selfish was not on our radar.

When the thankful talk had finished Jeff, with much ceremony, began to slice one of the turkeys and fill the plates that were passed down like they were on a conveyor belt. You know how people would form a line to pass buckets of water to fight a fire? That was us with plates. 

“Scott, you’re a breast man,” Jeff passed his plate back down the line heaving with succulent meat.

“That smells amazing,” Scott grinned. “I can’t remember the last time we had turkey.”

“Probably can’t remember the last time you had breast either,” Gordon side whispered under his breath, receiving a clip around the back of his head.

I got breast too, Alan got a couple of legs and the others had a mixture. This was good, this was safe. I knew where I was with turkey. You can’t really mess that up. I accepted a little of the stuffing but didn't eat it, I'm not a fan but didn't want to be seen as awkward, no more than usual anyway. 

The side dishes were passed around too, I took potatoes because that's the law, a corn cob, a bread roll and some gravy. I was playing it safe.

“Are you not even going to try the rest?” Alan asked me.

“I refuse to touch that mushroomy evil.”

“What about the yams?” he pushed the bowl with the hot chocolate topped thing towards me. It looked a bit like the savoury souffle I’d had once, that had been a soft, cheesy delight. This had to be something similar. 

“Yams are sweet potatoes, right?”

Alan nodded. Cheesy souffle topped sweet potato actually sounded pretty good.

“Okay,” I agreed, allowing him to dish me up a spoonful and plonk it on my plate.

Everyone stopped eating to watch me, which should have been my first clue that something was amiss. Alas, I trusted the baby too much.

“Urghhh! OH MY GODS! What the hell is that? What's wrong with it?” I spluttered, only just managing to swallow the mouthful I had because it wasn’t polite to spit food into your napkin at the dinner table.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Jeff said, sounding slightly insulted.

“Why is it sweet?” I gasped, turning to glare at the one who had betrayed my trust…

There he was, phone up, filming my reaction. The snot. “English woman’s reaction to american food,” he grinned, waving it in my face.

“How dare!” I swiped at him but he dodged my hand, laughing so hard he almost fell off his chair. I shall never trust that boy again, hell I won’t trust any of them again. Now I know why they had all wanted to sit next to me. 

I steered clear of anything I didn’t know after that, I wasn't even going to risk the cornbread but John insisted I tried it, dipped in the gravy. It wasn’t as bad as I had anticipated but I'd had to really psyche myself up to even try it.

Everything else was delicious, Jeff had apparently used cream and butter in the potatoes, something I’d never done as it felt way too indulgent, but he went there, and he went there well. 

Unlike the only comparison that I had, which was Christmas dinner, no one wandered off between courses. In my house growing up everyone would leave the table and collapse on the couches for a few hours to watch TV and burp out some room before they built up an appetite for dessert, but not here. Here we stayed seated, although all the dishes were pushed into the center of the table, and we talked. We talked a lot. We talked between bites, we talked between first helpings and seconds, we chatted after we’d finished eating and settled back in our chairs with drinks, although their version of apple cider was not what I was expecting.

We spent more than two hours sitting at the table, talking about anything and everything. I mostly stayed quiet, not just because I was starting to feel quite tired and the more I talked the more I coughed, but because it was nice to listen to them all. I didn’t really have much to contribute to the reminiscing of thanksgivings past but as always I didn’t feel excluded. 

“Time to clear the table,” Grandma announced, and even though we were feeling quite stuffed and lazy we all grabbed plates and serving dishes and trooped to the kitchen. That was one advantage to having such a big family, clean up took hardly any time. We split into teams, some of us transferring the leftovers to put in the fridge, others loading the dishwashers and the rest gathering the pies and coffee pots to take back with us to the dining room.

Pie, now that isn’t usually a bad thing for me, I do love me some apple pie and will happily sit with Scott and indulge, although I’ve learnt that you can’t just take a slice and expect there to be any left if you want more. Won’t happen. Nope, you have to grab a fork and dig into the pan as he held it or he’d eat the lot before you even realised it was gone. We've eaten cherry pie, banoffee, apple and blackberry, mince pies, we have a wide taste range. But I’d never had pumpkin pie, I didn’t even like a pumpkin spice latte. This wasn't going to go well, they didn’t even have any custard to help it go down easier. Who doesn’t have custard with pie? Crazy people, that’s who. Even Scott likes custard now. I’ve trained him well.

“We have pecan pie too,” Jeff offered but Scott answered for me.

“She has a rule, apparently nuts should be salty.”

I swear, the amount of sniggering I’d heard from these idiots today…

“I don’t like sweet nuts, no nuts in cakes or desserts or sweet things of any kind,” I elaborated, “I don’t do nuts in chocolate either.”

"Won't you even try the pumpkin?" Gordon asked. 

They all looked at me expectantly. I gave in gracefully and opened my mouth for the bite that Scott offered me. 

"Foul," I declared firmly. "No thank you."

“Well you have to have something,” Grandma insisted. 

“I’m fine,” I said, smiling reassuringly. “I’m more than happy with a cup of coffee.” I took a sip to prove my point.

“Don’t worry, Grandma, I got this,” John said, putting down his spoon and heading back to the kitchen.

“What’s he doing?” Virgil asked. I shrugged. I had no clue,

He was back a minute later and, with much ceremony, he carefully placed a small glass bowl in front of me.

“Oh my gods, my hero,” I sighed happily. Was there ever a more magical sight than a tiny, perfectly formed chocolate cheesecake? The english kind, with a crushed biscuit (cookie) base, creamy cheese filling and a layer of chocolate sauce and whipped cream on top. Perfection in a bowl. “You are amazing.”

“Thank you.”

“I was talking to the cake,” I lied, giving him a sweetly innocent smile. He narrowed his eyes playfully but he knows me too well to take it seriously. “Where did you dig this up from?”

“It was left in the freezer from that movie night we had a few months ago. I know your taste in desserts so I thought it would be wise to let it defrost in the fridge in case you needed it.”

“And you said I failed to raise him as a gentleman,” Jeff chuckled. 

“I have revised my opinion,” I assured him, digging my fork into the gooey deliciousness.

***

“Come on, love,” John said softly, shrugging his shoulder to gently jiggle my head that was resting against it. “You don’t want to sleep there, my shoulder is hard and boney.”

“No it’s not,” I argued, not moving or opening my eyes, even though he was right. I was so tired, my cold (always worse in the evenings) was catching up with me and demanding that I atone for the energy I had used up today by sleeping immediately.

“Yes it is,” he jiggled again. “Let’s go.”

I sighed but did as I was told although sitting up was an effort. I allowed John to haul me to my feet and propel me towards the bedroom. 

Now that I was thinking about it I was feeling tired, it was like acknowledging it had rushed in to sweep me off my feet and not in a good way. 

I collapsed face down on the bed without getting undressed, that was far too much effort. I dozed off again to the sound of John laughing as he tugged off my shoes.


End file.
